


Variety Show

by TheManicMagician



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Horrortale, Alternate Universe - Underfell, Alternate Universe - Underswap, Fluff, Multi, Smut, skelepreg
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-14
Updated: 2018-01-17
Packaged: 2018-10-31 16:08:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 30,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10902813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheManicMagician/pseuds/TheManicMagician
Summary: A collection of Undertale oneshots. Mostly porn, but the occasional fluff sneaks its way in.The pairings, au, etc. vary from chapter to chapter, so please read the description at the top for each new chapter.





	1. Even a Nice Boyfriend Can Be a Handful [Papster]

**Author's Note:**

> Gaster treats the skeleton brothers to a nice meal to celebrate Papyrus’ recent job success. The evening takes an unexpected turn when Gaster’s hand slips beneath the table–and Papyrus’ skirt.
> 
> [Papster, Explicit content]

The restaurant Gaster selects is upscale, more posh than any place Papyrus or Sans have been to before. Sans’ definition of fine dining is a burger at Grillby’s, and Papyrus’ paltry sentry paychecks afford him the occasional takeout, and that’s about it. 

Papyrus had expected any place Gaster took them to to be fancy—it’s in his nature to favor the elegant, the refined—but when they step inside Nuovo Ristorante di Casa, Papyrus is still thunderstruck. Multi-faceted crystal chandeliers cast a muted glow over the room. Rich velvet curtains are pulled back from the windows, which look out onto an impressive view of New Home, the city lights sparkling in the dark of the night. The furniture is carved from expensive wood, with plush cushions. The cutlery laid out on the tables is gleaming silver, and in the center of every table are vases full of yellow flowers, and small candles. 

Papyrus feels woefully underdressed. Gaster had assured him he’d looked lovely when they’d met up out front, and even sealed the compliment with a quick kiss. But considering their amorous relationship, Gaster’s opinion of his attire might be biased. Just slightly. 

Papyrus tugs unhappily at his short pleated skirt and flowery blouse. Tuxedos and long evening gowns are more commonplace among the small crowd of monsters already dining. The maître d’ openly frowns at Sans’ attire for a second before pasting on a smile again. While it is clear that Papyrus had at the very least made an effort to look nice, Sans is another matter. He is indeed (reluctantly) wearing his only set of trousers and scuffed dress shoes. But he has forgone his jacket and waistcoat, wearing just a rumpled dress shirt. (Gaster invited them out so swiftly, Papyrus was unable to iron it in time.) Sans’ tie, decidedly  _ not _ tied, hangs loosely around his neck. Gaster hardly looks like he belongs with the two of them, cutting an impressive figure in his pressed and tailored suit. 

Nevertheless, the maître d’ waves their group inside the restaurant proper. Upon sighting Gaster, a waiter guides them to a secluded booth near the back of the restaurant. “My usual booth.” Gaster explains along the way.

Papyrus slides in on one side, while Sans sits on the other. Gaster joins Papyrus, and the waiter passes out menus. 

Papyrus’ embarrassment over his state of dress quickly fades as Gaster points out to him the numerous pasta dishes the restaurant has to offer. He ends up ordering a lasagna dish. He hasn’t had the chance to eat this particular type of pasta in some time; that insufferable dog keeps busting out of cupboards and snatching the pan out of his hands every time he makes it.

Their waiter circles back around to them with a bottle of wine and three glasses. 

“What can I get for you folks this evening?” He asks as he takes a corkscrew to the wine.

Gaster rattles off his and Papyrus’ orders—steak and lasagna dishes, respectively. 

Then everyone’s attention turns to Sans, who is frowning down at his menu.

“And for you, sir?”

“There’s no kid section.” Sans taps at the menu’s laminated surface. “Is there a separate menu or somethin’?”

The waiter looks discomfited. “We do not have a menu for children here, sir.” Sans is a twenty-nine year old skeleton, and Papyrus is dying inside.

“Do you guys make those little mini pizzas?” Sans asks.

The waiter glances over at Gaster, who seems to be deriving as much amusement as Sans is out of the situation.

“I’ll see what I can do for you. I’m sure the kitchen staff will make an allowance, considering.” Considering the Royal Scientist, one of King Asgore’s most trusted advisors, as well as the monster who brought sustainable electricity to the Underground, is included in the party of guests. Sans knows exactly what he’s doing, and why he’s getting away with it. Papyrus supposes he should just be content with the fact that Sans didn’t ask for anything too outrageous. 

Once the waiter has jotted down their orders and went on his way, Gaster raises his glass.

“A toast, to Papyrus.” Gaster hasn’t finished talking, but Sans has already raised his glass. Gaster looks over at Papyrus, smiling warmly. “Congratulations for becoming Captain Undyne’s student, and furthering your guard career.”

Papyrus is flattered by the gesture. He nyehs happily as the three of them clink their glasses together before drinking. Sans miraculously avoids spilling red wine all over his white shirt.

Dogged persistence and effort (aka several days posted outside Undyne’s door) had persuaded the royal guard captain to take him on as her first-ever pupil. Undyne was trained by the king, and is a fearsome warrior in her own right. Papyrus is sure he’ll learn a lot from her. Maybe they’ll even become friends!

“How’d you get fishface to agree, again?” Sans asks.

“Well, dear brother, first I waited outside her house until  _ Undyne _ —” Here he draws out her name slowly, so Sans can pick up on his teacher’s proper name and not have to fall back on terrible monikers. “—agreed to a sparring session. After that, it was babybones’ play to dazzle her with my special attack!”

“Your control is impressive, especially considering your lack of a formal background in attack training.” Gaster remarks.

Papyrus puffs up a bit. “Naturally! The Great Papyrus succeeds at anything he sets his mind to, nyeh heh heh!”

“You’re so cool, bro.” Sans winks.

Sans and Gaster hadn’t gotten along when Papyrus initially introduced them to each other. His brother’s humor had too often been at Gaster’s expense. Additionally, Sans had the uncanny ability to show up wherever they went out on a date together, and volunteered himself to tag along. But it seems that both time and a mutual love (albeit different types of love) for Papyrus has mellowed them out to each other.

The conversation leaves the enthralling topic of Papyrus for a time, moving onto other less awesome things, such as talk about work, and more of Sans’ horrid humor. The flow of discussion ebbs once their food arrives. It smells delicious, and it tastes even better. Papyrus and Gaster swap bites of their meals with each other, while Sans picks toppings off his mini pizzas with his fingers, eating them one by one.

When their plates are cleared, the waiter is quick to remove them, and both Gaster and Papyrus order off of the dessert menu. Sans, on the other hand, has a different idea.

“I’m gonna go check out the bar.” He says, jerking a thumb back in its direction. “See how the other half drinks. You guys want anything?”

The couple decline, and Sans ambles off, with a promise to return soon.

“I’m sorry.” Papyrus says.

“For what?”

“Sans won’t be right back, no matter what he says.” Papyrus despairs. “And he’ll start a tab in your name.” Why does his brother insist on embarrassing him very time he’s out with Gaster? He can’t take Sans anywhere.

He must be telegraphing his mortification, because Gaster rests his hand on his thigh, giving it a soothing squeeze. 

“I don’t mind,” He says, mildly.

Gaster’s hand doesn’t move away, not even when their waiter returns with dessert. Coffee and a small pitcher of cream for Gaster, and chocolate mousse for Papyrus. The mousse is decorated with a dash of whipped cream, chocolate shavings, and several raspberries. He typically isn’t a fan of sweet things, but Gaster knows of his love of milkshakes and insisted he’d enjoy it. 

Papyrus’ face burns as the waiter sets out their dishes. Gaster’s hand is still on his thigh, inching higher. Right in front of the oblivious waiter. The perversity of the situation sends sparks of arousal through him.

Gaster notices. Smirks. The waiter leaves them to their dessert, and Gaster’s hand slips underneath the folds of Papyrus’ skirt. His thumb rubs repetitive circles into the bone. He pours in a splash of creamer, and mixes his coffee before taking a sip.

Gaster gives an appreciative moan. “Marvelous brew, as always. I often send for the coffee here when I know I’m in for a late night at the Lab. It keeps me alert like no other coffee.” 

Gaster is carrying on normally, as if he’s not feeling Papyrus up under the table. With his free hand, he picks up the spoon resting in the dessert. He scoops out a mouthful, and feeds it to Papyrus. 

Papyrus swallows, and Gaster inches his hand higher still. His fingertips brush against the frilled hem of Papyrus’ panties. Gaster’s ministrations have coaxed his magic to form; thankfully the material of the skirt is dense enough to hide the orange glow beneath.

“How is it?”

“T-Thicker than I thought.” Papyrus stammers, flustered. “But it tastes good.”

“I’m glad.”

Gaster rubs him through the thin fabric of his panties.

Papyrus sucks in a breath.

“Gaster…”

“More?” Gaster feeds him another mouthful. It’s good, and the feel of his hand is even  _ better _ , but what is he  _ doing _ .

Papyrus grips the table, suppressing a moan. 

“When do you begin your training with Captain Undyne?”

“M-Monday.”

“So we still have the weekend for ourselves. Is there anything in particular you’d like to do?”

Papyrus yelps as Gaster pushes the panties aside and plunges a finger inside him. Papyrus claps a hand to his mouth to muffle further sounds. Gaster’s touch is pleasant, but it’s not—it’s not satisfying. Gaster is drawing it out, teasing him.

“Well?”

It’s hard to think clearly. “There’s a, mm, a new Mettaton movie.”

“I’ll get tickets.”

Gaster continues feeding him the dessert, until the dish is nearly empty. A bit of mousse smears on the corner of his mouth, and Gaster licks it off.

Papyrus’ knees rub together. There’s a quiet squelching noise as Gaster’s finger moves in and out of his pussy. Papyrus moans his lover’s name.

“Something wrong?” Gaster asks.

Papyrus levels a desperate look his way.

“We shouldn’t be doing this. Someone will see!” 

“The table is secluded enough.”

“But…” Gaster pushes a second finger inside. It slips in easily.

Gaster leans in closely to Papyrus, whispering: “You’re so wet for me already. This really turns you on, doesn’t it? Knowing that you could be caught at any moment.”

“Gaster, please…”

“Do you want me to stop?”

Papyrus shakes his head. “Faster,” He says.

“Wouldn’t you rather draw it out?” Gaster murmurs. “Don’t you find this exciting?”

Papyrus shudders, clenching around the two fingers inside of him. These classy monsters would be astonished if they knew what Gaster was doing to him. But they’d be paralyzed, entranced. They wouldn’t be able to look away from him.

Papyrus’ hips rock forward, and he throws his head back against the booth cushion. Gaster escalates his thrusts, his thumb rubbing his clit. Papyrus gets lost in the feel of Gaster’s hand, the thought of Gaster hoisting him up on the table, claiming him in full view of everyone—

And suddenly the fingers are gone. 

Papyrus’ eyes crack open again, confusion on his face. His legs are shaking, hips twitching. He was so  _ close _ . 

Gaster calmly cleans his hand with his cloth napkin as Sans stumbles back over to their booth, a foamy glass of beer in hand. He slides back into the booth. He places the glass on the table too forcefully; beer sloshes over the brim of the cup, dripping onto the table. The blueish flush to Sans’ skull is a surefire tell that he’s had a few cups too many already. With his short stature, it doesn’t take much to get him drunk.

“Enjoy your trip to the bar?” Gaster asks. Papyrus’ soul is pounding, his body trembling with want.

“Definitely sets the bar for bars.” There’s a slight slur to Sans’ voice. “Don’t tell Grillby I said that.”

“You have my word,” Gaster chuckles.

Even when inebriated, though, Sans still has the wherewithal to notice something is off. He leans forward, elbows on the table, squinting at Papyrus. Spilt beer wets the sleeve of his shirt.

“You okay, bro? You aren’t looking too good.”

Papyrus can only imagine the flaming blush on his face, and he can feel the sweat sliding down his skull. He surreptitiously tugs his skirt back down.

“Um, I…” Floundering, he looks to Gaster. 

“Papyrus isn’t feeling too well. I fear the food didn’t agree with him; too rich.” Gaster explains smoothly, without missing a beat. “Will you watch the table while I bring him to the bathroom?”

Gaster threads his fingers through Papyrus’, and tugs him out of the booth before Sans can ask further questions, or volunteer to take Papyrus himself.

Fortunately, the bathroom isn’t far. They pass by waitstaff moving in and out of the bustling kitchen before Gaster pushes open the door to the men’s bathroom. It’s immaculately clean, on par with the rest of the establishment. Soft jazz music plays from hidden speakers. There are three stalls, all empty. Gaster leads Papyrus to the stall on the end, furthest from the door. 

Papyrus fumbles the lock shut behind him and then Gaster is pressing him up against the wall. Their hips grind together, and Papyrus moans at the hot bulge rubbing against him.

“Oh,  _ please _ —”

“Russ, I need you.” Gaster breathes. “I can’t wait, I need you right now.”

Gaster fumbles with his pants zipper, and frees his erection. He lifts Papyrus by the legs, hiking up his skirt, and pushes in. 

“Yes! Stars, so good,” Papyrus cries out in ecstasy. His fingers drag against the back of Gaster’s spider-silk suit. 

Their tongues tangle in sloppy kisses. They break apart, gasping for breath, before meeting for another kiss.

It’s rough, it’s frantic. It’s so dirty, so unlike them both to do something so obscene in such a fine establishment. And the thrill of getting away with it ramps up their arousal even further.

Gaster punctuates each thrust with a low grunt, his tell that he’s getting close.

Suddenly, Papyrus hears the door to the bathroom swing open, and footsteps over the polished tile. Someone is in here with them.

But Gaster isn’t stopping. He either didn’t heard them come in, or doesn’t care. He’s pounding into Papyrus, impaling him with each passionate thrust. It’s too much. Papyrus bites down on the shoulder of Gaster’s suit, struggling to stifle his moans.

Is the soft music enough to drown out the sounds of sex, or is the stranger hearing Gaster’s rough breathing, Papyrus’ muffled whines, the slap of each and every thrust? They don’t say anything, but Papyrus can see their feet appear in the stall next to them. They have to know, they must, but they’re not saying anything.

Gaster grips him tightly, hilting himself deep inside Papyrus as he climaxes. 

Papyrus gasps, unable to keep silent any longer. As the flood of hot cum drives him over the edge, he lets out a keening wail of bliss.

The stranger is spooked, or doesn’t want to be caught listening, and flees the restroom without washing their hands.

As they cool down, Gaster bumps his forehead affectionately against Papyrus’.

“That was…” Papyrus grasps for an adequate description.

“Yeah.”

Papyrus’ body is still thrumming with the rush of being caught in the act by that unfortunate stranger.

“Do you think they’re going to tell what they heard?” He’d hate to have Gaster banned for life over this. He does like the coffee, after all.

“In a place like this?” Gaster’s nuzzles into his neck, breath hot. “Who’d ever believe them?”

Gaster can be so mischievous. It’s not something one would expect from him, not something many know. Papyrus feels privileged to see this side of him.

“Gaster.”

Papyrus is set down again. His legs are still quivering. 

“Yes, dear?”

Papyrus lifts up on his toes, wrapping his arms around Gaster to pull him in for a kiss. When they break apart, Papyrus grins up at him.

“Can we do that again?”

The visible jolt of arousal that runs through Gaster is enough to answer his question.


	2. The Head Case [Horrortale]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An average day for the skeleton brothers becomes slightly-less-average when Sans’ skull injury worsens.
> 
> [Horrortale, Gen, Fontcest if you squint]

His skull itches.

Sans scrapes at the edges of his gaping head wound. While sitting at his sentry station, there’s little to distract him from the incessant prickling sensation, so he continues to scratch, the soft sound of bone grazing bone the only noise in the otherwise still and quiet afternoon.

Sans scratches and scratches until his hand gets tired, so he lets it flop onto the counter of his sentry station. The tips of his phalanges are crummy with dust. That’s probably not good.

“Sans!” Papyrus’ voice carries as he jogs up to Sans’ station.

“’sup, bro?”

Sans pats himself down, and locates a ketchup packet in the pocket of his shorts. He pops it into his mouth, wrapper and all, chewing through the crinkly plastic with sharp, serrated teeth.

“Don’t take that light and breezy tone with me, brother of mine.” Papyrus pokes an accusatory finger at him. “I reset my traps this morning, and, being the great and stupendous skeleton that I am, I decided to check yours as well.”

“Cool.”

“No, uncool!” Papyrus slaps down the piece of paper with Sans’ trap—an old crossword—onto the counter. It’s mottled with dubious stains. “How will you trap a human with such a simple puzzle?”

Sans swallows down the ketchup packet. 

“It’s plenty difficult. I still haven’t solved it.”

“What? But it is simple! A babybones could do it!”

“Guess you’re just super smart, bro.”

“Nyeh!” Papyrus’ face lights up at the praise. His jagged, stained teeth upturn in a beaming smile that makes Sans’ soul melt. “While that is true, I also think…”

There’s a sudden crack, and something lands in front of Sans, on the counter.

“Uh…” Sans picks it up. It’s a shard of—ceramic?—something, no bigger than four inches across. Is pottery falling from the sky?

“Sans, it’s…you’re falling apart!”

Oh, it’s…oh. It’s bone, his bone, falling off from his own skull.

Papyrus grips his shoulders, like he’s about to violently shake Sans in his panic, but evidently thinks better of it; after grabbing him, he almost immediately springs away, as if he gripped a scalding hot pan without gloves.

“What are we supposed to do?” Papyrus paces erratically, bug-eyed with panic.

“Um.” Sans is unhelpful, fascinated by the bone shard in his hand.

Papyrus grabs him under the arms, dragging him off his stool. Sans pockets the bone shard and hangs limp as Papyrus tucks him under his arm like a football, or a watermelon. 

“Okay. I have a plan. Do you have all your pieces accounted for?”

“Far as I know.”

“Good enough!”

With Papyrus’ brisk pace and long legs, they’re through the forest and to their house within minutes. Well, maybe it took longer, Sans wouldn’t know; he always lapses into a nap when Papyrus carries him.

He blinks awake as he’s set on their dilapidated green couch. Papyrus tugs a moth-eaten afghan over him, then dashes up to his room. 

Sans snuggles down into the blanket, and is nearly asleep again when Papyrus returns, a bottle of glue in hand. Sans hands over the bone shard.

“Do you think that’ll work?”

“It has to,” Papyrus says, and there’s a strained snap to his voice. “Do you know where it broke off from?”

“Wasn’t lookin’, really.”

Papyrus frowns. He pulls off his glove, and slowly runs his bare finger around the jagged circumference of Sans’ wound. The slow, dragging touch is strangely intimate. Sans shivers.

Papyrus’ finger ultimately stops at one section of his skull.

“This part feels a bit different from the rest. Rougher.” 

Papyrus unscrews the glue cap. He squeezes the bottle, laboriously coating the side of the shard with glue. The glue is crusty, and there’s not much left—Sans had found the bottle a while back, during a trip to the dump, and pasted together some of Papyrus’ action figures with it. Papyrus runs the nozzle of the glue bottle back and forth over the shard several times, making sure it’s well-coated, before he sets the bottle aside.

“Don’t move.” Eye sockets narrowing in concentration, Papyrus carefully presses the shard against Sans’ skull. He grimaces at the sensation, but doesn’t complain.

“I…think it worked!” Papyrus lets go of the shard, backing away a little. “How do you feel?”

“With my fingers.”

“Sans.”

“With my toes?”

“Sans!”

“Truthfully, kinda the same, bro.” The shard feels like a foreign object, unconnected to him.

Papyrus lets out a tiny gasp as the glue fails, and the shard dips, falling off and plopping into Sans’ skull.

“I-I can fix it!” Papyrus is quick to assure him. 

He reaches one hand slowly inside Sans’ skull. He pulls out the shard, as well as two old fries. Sans picks up one of the fries from his palm and pops it into his mouth.

“Wondered where those went.” He suspects he placed them there for safe-keeping when he was drunk.

“Sans, maybe that’s it! You need to eat more, to rebuild your bones and make them more durable.”

“Only if you eat too.”

Papyrus rolls his eyes. “Yes, of course, as always.” He leaps up. “You stay here and….don’t lose your head! Nyeh heh heh.”

“Good one, bro.”

Papyrus disappears into the kitchen, and soon Sans hears the familiar clang of pots and pans as Papyrus prepares his latest culinary feat.

Sans finishes off the second shriveled fry, and is content just listening to Papyrus bustle about in the kitchen, nyehing to himself.

It’s not long before Papyrus reappears with two steaming plates of his famous spaghetti. The noodles (boiled maggots) are topped off with grated moldy cheese and mystery meat-balls. Papyrus never asks where he gets the protein, which is so coveted in the Underground, and Sans never tells. 

Sans digs into the hearty meal. 

“Great as always, bro.”

“Close your mouth while you are chewing! But thank you.”

Once they’ve polished off their early dinners, Papyrus scrounges around the house some more. He peels off the old tape that was holding up one of his posters, and uses it and a fresh application of glue to keep the bone shard in place on Sans’ skull. It sags slightly, but holds.

“Good as new!” Papyrus declares. “Now—and I can’t believe I, the Great Papyrus, am saying this—you should really rest up, brother.”

Papyrus bends down by the couch to pick Sans up and carry him off to his room, but Sans shifts back further onto the couch, and pats the space next to him.

“Why don’t ya join me?”

“I’m not the one who requires calcium-strengthening sleep!” Papyrus turns contemplative. “But, since you are my poor sickly brother who I love very much, perhaps it would behoove me to give in to your whimsies.”

Papyrus curls up with him on the couch. The two underfed skeletons don’t take up too much room; they lay side by side snugly, comfortable.

Despite Papyrus’ demands he rest, they stay up for a few hours more, talking about everything and nothing until they both drift off.

As they dream, their souls beat in synch.

The next morning, Papyrus shakes Sans awake excitedly—somehow, during the night, the shard had fused back to his skull. After peeling off the tape, Sans runs a hand over the area. There’s a faint bump where the glue had pieced him back together, but instead of hardened glue, it has solidified into solid bone. The shard had reattached itself thanks to Papyrus’ simple ingenuity—and his love.


	3. Seeing Double [Kustard, Fellcest, Kedgeup]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> GIFT FIC: When an unexpected guest with an uncanny resemblance to Sans crash-lands in their courtyard, King Papyrus and his queen have little choice but to take him in. As Sans works with his double to help get him back home where he belongs, he finds himself both annoyed and inexplicably drawn to his counterpart. 
> 
> [Kustard, Fellcest, Kedgeup, Explicit content]

Sans is awoken by the sound of a thunderous crash. He jerks upright, magic bristling, prepared for a fight.

Papyrus who was roused as well, flicks on the bedside lamp, illuminating the otherwise dark room. There’s no one in the royal bedchamber but them.

“The hell do you think that was?” Sans rubs at his eyes, irritated. Of course something like this happens on a night he was getting decent, dreamless sleep.

“I’m not sure.”

Papyrus is already up and out of bed, dressing hurriedly. Sans scrambles to follow suit. As he finishes pushing his head through a sweater, he sees Papyrus eyeing him in consideration.

“You should stay here.”

Sans snorts. “Fat chance.”

Papyrus pauses at the door, debating on whether he should argue the point or not. But his need for urgency wins out.

“Just stay behind me.”

A familiar irritation flares—he’s not some glass figurine, low HP be damned—but he smothers down the same tired words of how he is more than capable of protecting himself.

Sans follows Papyrus through the winding halls of the castle. A guard spots Papyrus once they reach the main hall, and he hurries over.

“King Papyrus, Queen Sans.” He bows shortly to both of them in turn. “We’ve traced the source of the disturbance to the courtyard.”

Papyrus gives a nod of acknowledgement, picking up speed now that he has a clear destination. Sans trots after him.

Ancient gas lamps cast a muted glow on the courtyard, their meager light illuminating faint outlines of trees, and something large looming in the distance. Thick plumes of grey smoke rise near the center of the courtyard. Papyrus summons a large femur bone attack, its magic lighting the way as he marches deeper into the courtyard. Several guards come up to flank either side of Papyrus and Sans, using fire and other types of magic to help with the light.

Papyrus strides confidently towards the source of the smoke, and the group comes upon a large machine the likes of which Sans has never seen before. The landing was a hard one. The glass hatch is shattered to pieces. Several chunks of twisted metal are scattered around the area. 

Sans’ eyes are drawn to the cockpit, to the unmoving figure inside.

“Papyrus, there’s someone in there.”

Papyrus follows Sans’ gaze and spots them as well. He stabs the bone construct into the soil, and leaves it there as he hoists himself up into the machine. He plants one foot inside the cockpit, and one on the rim of it. 

Papyrus being so close to the machine while also out of Sans’ reach has him a bit nervous. If the machine explodes, or catches fire, Sans won’t be able to grab him immediately and teleport them both out of there.

Papyrus stiffens. He whips around to look back at the gathered guards.

“Don’t just stand there like a bunch of idiots, help me get him out!”

The guards surge forward to help their king. Sans is crowded out, unable to climb the machine as well to lend a hand. With the lack of proper light, and the crowd, he can barely see anything. He’s forced to wait impotently, staring at Papyrus’ back as he works with the guards to free the passenger of the machine. There’s a glimmer of magic, the sharpened point of a bone slicing apart a seat belt. Several guards work to pry out the person’s trapped arm from two sheets of folded metal.

When he has been fully extracted from the wreckage, Papyrus gathers him in his arms. Sans is surprised, confused; he assumed Papyrus would have handed him off to a guard.

Papyrus carefully jumps down off the machine, and turns to face his brother.

Sans’ soul stops in his chest. Cradled in Papyrus’ arms is— _ him _ .

~*~

Papyrus brings Sans’ double up to one of the spare bedrooms in the castle, close to their own quarters.

The royal healer is roused by a servant and brought up to them. She heals most of the double’s injuries. His arm receives the most attention, the healer setting and reknitting the broken bones. She slathers salve and wraps bandages over any lingering marks. A particularly nasty crack spiderwebs across his sternum. After doing what she can to mend it, the healer wraps it carefully in a series of thick bandages. After confirming that Sans’ double is and will remain stable, she is dismissed. Sans pulls up a chair by his bedside, eyes roaming over every feature.

They don’t look  _ exactly _ the same, Sans decides. This other Sans is stockier, thicker bones signifying a more healthy, well-fed childhood than Sans’ own. His teeth are dull and round, far from the sharpened points all other skeletons have. Skeleton monsters used to have more human-like teeth, as his double has, but through centuries of evolution their teeth grew sharp, the ability to bite and injure crucial to survival underground.

Despite their surface differences, though, there’s no denying that this skeleton is also, well,  _ him _ . A quick check confirms the same name, the same pitiful stats.

“Do you know how this happened?”

Papyrus’ voice startles him out of his thoughts. He too is looking down at Sans’ double, eye lights glowing with concern. Papyrus prides himself on never letting harm come to Sans. And the one on the bed isn’t him, but he’s still so similar that it must feel like a failure to Papyrus all the same.

“He’s…he’s me, for sure. But also not me? I—there were some books I read once, from the dump. They talked about a multiverse theory. That, uh, every possible universe exists.”

“So he is you, if circumstances were different.”

“Yeah, I think so.” In the privacy of his own mind, he can admit he’s glad this other Sans is a weakling like him, despite evidently having a better childhood. It’s somehow reassuring to know that no matter what he did, he was fucked.

Papyrus’ hand settles on his shoulder, heavy and firm.

“You should get some rest.”

“What, are you going to stay here?”

“One of us needs to be here when he awakes. What would you do, if you woke up in an unfamiliar place?”

“Probably teleport home.” Just guards posted at the door wouldn’t be enough. He’d bolt for sure, and the last thing they need is a lookalike of the queen wandering around the Underground. But the other Sans would trust Papyrus—would trust another version of himself. Hopefully.

“I’ll stay here with you.” Sans decides. He doesn’t like sleeping alone in that big bed. And there’s no denying his curiosity; he wants to see what his double is like when he’s awake.

Sans gestures to one of the chairs in the room.

“Pull up a chair, stay a while.”

Papyrus huffs. Sans knows he’d prefer to stand, leaning against the wall. Cool, but not practical—who knows how long it’ll take the other Sans to stir. Papyrus must reach the same conclusion, because he gives in and pulls up a chair to join him.

He exchanges idle talk with Papyrus for a time, but they  _ were _ woken up in the middle of the night. Before long it becomes impossible to ignore the heavy weight of his eye sockets. He rests his arms on the bed, pillowing his head in his folded limbs.

~*~

Sans is awoken hours later by a hard elbow in his side.

He groans, picking his head up. The cuff of his sweater sleeve is soggy with drool.

“Jeez, I’m up—”

“Silence, Sans. He’s waking up.”

Papyrus has pushed his chair back and out of the way, leaning over the bed, watching. Sans’ lingering drowsiness drops away as his double stirs, eye sockets opening. His eye lights are soft white, another difference.

The other Sans looks between the pair of them, blinking slowly.

“Guess I ain’t in Kansas anymore.” His void is lower than Sans’ own. Smoother, too.

“Kansas?” Papyrus sounds out the word slowly. “Is that where you are from?”

“No it’s—never mind.”

His double tries to sit up—tries being the operative word. The slight movement agitates his injuries; with a low hiss of pain, he lays back again.

“You were injured in the crash.” Papyrus explains. “It’s best if you don’t move too much.”

“Well. At least not moving is what I do best.”

“Nyeh heh heh.” Papyrus chuckles. “You really  _ are  _ Sans.”

“Why did you come here?” Sans asks him, ignoring the small dig.

“Wasn’t trying to come here, exactly. Must have taken a wrong turn somewhere. All-consuming darkness can be a little tricky to navigate. Should have put some brighter headlights on that thing, heh.”

There’s a sudden knock at the door.

“What?” Papyrus snaps, irked at the interruption.

A servant timidly opens the door.

“King Papyrus, the Drake family is waiting to take breakfast with you.”

Papyrus mutters a curse under his breath, and waves the servant off.

“Select my outfit for the day. I will be over shortly.”

She bows and departs, closing the door once more.

Papyrus rounds on them.

“Sans—”

“Yeah boss?”

“Yeah bro?”

They respond simultaneously. Papyrus pinches the bridge of his nose with two fingers. The other Sans shrugs.

“I need to go take care of this. Sans, work on figuring out how to get him home. And you—” Papyrus points at Sans’ double. “Devise some name for us to call you that’s  _ not _ Sans.”

Papyrus strides from the room, leaving them with their missions, and with each other.

“So. Uh.” God, this is weird. Sans scratches the back of his neck. “You got any name suggestions?”

“How ’bout Sans 1 and Sans 2?”

Sans scowls. “Be serious.”

“Serious? Nah, sounds too stuffy for me.”

God. Is  _ he _ this big of a pain in the ass?

“…Your full name is Comic Sans, yeah?” Sans always was a joke, even from birth. The other Sans nods. “So why not just “Comic”?”

“Probably better than what I was gonna suggest.” Comic admits.

Sans settles in. He and Comic have a long talk, comparing their worlds. Comic is king in his universe, sharing the title with his brother. One thing they don’t share is a bed; Sans can infer that just from how he talks about his own brother. Comic’s world is also so much….weaker than his own. Soft. Happy. Sans can’t tell if the twisting in his soul is from disgust or envy.

A few hours into their conversation, there’s a knock at the door. The royal healer has returned to check on Comic. Following behind her is a maid sent to them by Papyrus, bearing a tray of breakfast for the two of them. Sans salivates at the smell of food; he and Comic had gotten so wrapped up in their talk, he hadn’t noticed how much time had passed.

The servant sets the tray down on the bedside table and leaves once more, while the healer pulls up the chair Papyrus had been using. She presses a gentle hand atop Comic’s sternum. Green magic brightens the room, then fades.

The healer gives Comic a faint smile. “It looks like everything is coming along nicely. In a few days you’ll be good as new.”

“Thanks, Merriweather.”

The healer is startled to be addressed by name. Her wide-eyed gaze fixes on the floor.

“N-Not at all, sir.”

After she leaves, Sans nearly smacks Comic in the head—and only restrains himself on behalf of his injuries.

“Don’t say shit like that.”

Sans gets up and grabs the food tray. A typical breakfast, eggs and fruit. If Sans had a choice, he would’ve gone for some bacon, too, but Papyrus is forever on a crusade against grease in any form.

“What, “thanks”?”

“All of it. No gratefulness, no first names.” 

Comic looks at him skeptically.

“Look, buddy, you don’t live here. You don’t get what it’s like. Maybe where you come from, everybody’s a bleeding heart and shit cotton candy out their ass—”

“Uh—”

“But you’re  _ here _ . You can’t let people in on how you feel about anyone or anything. ’Cause as soon as they know you care about something, it’s a weakness.” It’s hard to tell if what he’s saying is making its way through Comic’s thick skull. The perpetual grin gives away little. “Look. Papyrus worked hard to get here. People are going to think you’re related to us. How you act reflects on him. So don’t fuck it up for him, alright?”

There’s a flash of comradery between them, a common thread. For Papyrus.

“Ok.” Comic agrees amicably.

He picks up a condiment bottle, angling it at his eggs.

“Wait, that’s—”

Comic squirts a mountain of ketchup on top of his breakfast. Sans pulls a face.

“What?” Comic sees nothing wrong with it, his fork already scooping up a bite of ketchup with a side of egg.

His alternate counterpart is fucking  _ weird _ . Shaking his head, Sans reaches for the mustard.

~*~

After several days and a few more rounds of healing sessions, Comic is well enough to walk around on his own. Sans gives him some of the clothes out of his own closet to wear. He doesn’t think Comic would go for the outfits Papyrus has him wearing as his queen, so Sans digs into the back of the closet for some old clothes from the Snowdin days. Shorts, a black tank top, one of his old jackets. It’s warmer in the capitol than Snowdin was, but Comic enjoys wearing it regardless. Sans’ old outfits had always been a bit big on him, to give him more bulk, make him look more intimidating. While large on him, they fit well on Comic, almost snug.

Papyrus tasks the pair of them with getting Comic back home before he unwittingly causes some sort of political upset. The staff and guards are informed that Comic is a visiting relative, and that it would be in their best interest to keep their mouths shut about it.

Sans leads Comic through the castle, to the large storage room that has been converted into a workshop for the time being. The royal guards dragged the husk of the machine all the way here, as well as any other scraps they could find. Full sets of new tools were left for repairs. There are stacks of wood and sheet metal piled in one corner.

Comic whistles as they enter the room.

“You really went all out.”

“Just want to give you the best shot at not crashing on someone else’s lawn.”

Comic saunters over to the hull of the machine. A thought dawns on him, and there’s a sudden urgency in his pace as he scrabbles up the side of the machine.

“What’s wrong?” Sans asks, alarmed.

“They might still be inside.”

“Wait,  _ they _ ?” Papyrus and the guards would have found anyone else in the wreckage, surely.

Comic digs around the bottom of the cockpit.

“Ah, here they are.” He holds aloft two fuzzy pink slippers before hopping back out of the machine again.

“You can’t be serious.”

“I’m not Serious, I’m Comic.” He toes out of the sneakers Sans lent him, and puts on the slippers. “Remember, we covered this before.”

“You—You can’t wear those.”

Comic winks. “Gonna have to put my foot down on that one.”

That shit-eating grin of his is driving Sans up the wall.

“You just—god, fine. Wear whatever the fuck you want.” It’ll be his ass on the line if Papyrus disapproves, not him.

Once the footwear issue is settled, they divvy up the reconstruction workload. Comic fiddles around with the machine’s computer, while Sans works on cutting new metal plating for the hull.

Hours pass as they chip away at their tasks. Comic, he assumes, is motivated to return to his Papyrus and his world, whilst Sans is eager to return to the status quo. So for a pair of lazy assholes, they work efficiently.

Sans surveys his work so far with a self-satisfied smirk. Several squares and rectangles of metal have been cut from a larger sheet. Just a few more to go and he’ll be finished cutting, and can move on to affixing the plates to the machine.

He wipes sweat from his brow. The sheet of metal he was working with is riddled with holes now, effectively useless. He walks over to the pile of metal, and bends over to heft up the next sheet when he feels eyes on him.

Sans turns around. Comic has halted his work on the machine, wires and circuit boards on his lap and spread out in front of him. He’s staring right at Sans, contemplative. 

“W-What?”

“Nothin’.”

Comic returns to his work. Sans hauls up the sheet of metal again. His face is burning. He has to be reading way too much into that look. There’s no way in hell his double would be checking him out.

~*~

When Sans enters the dining room, Papyrus is the only one present. The king picks idly at his meal as he reads over the compiled sentry reports for the month. The entire meal has already been set out, cooling on the table. Typically each course would be served individually, but Papyrus is taking every precaution to keep Comic away from any outside attention.

It is only because he knows they’re entirely alone that Sans acts so forward. Rather than take his seat beside Papyrus at the table, he tugs the papers out of his lover’s hands and climbs onto his lap.

“Sans—” Papyrus starts, a touch exasperated.

Sans doesn’t let him finish, pressing his mouth to Papyrus’, tongue licking at his teeth. Papyrus’ mouth parts without thought, conditioned to reciprocate after years of this. Sans is greedy, overeager, pressing hard into the kiss.

When Papyrus regains the presence of mind to pull back, there’s a noticeable blush to his cheekbones. 

“Your counterpart will be here at any moment.” Papyrus protests, even as his arms encircle Sans, pulling their chests flush together.

“Comic had some things to finish up.” Sans grinds down onto his brother’s clothed crotch. “We have time.”

“Not enough time to—”

“Please, Pap.” Sans’ hands slip underneath the back of Papyrus’ shirt. He grips Papyrus’ spine, stroking, squeezing, just the way Sans knows he likes it. “I need you.”

Papyrus shudders with lust.

“Table or wall?” He growls, breath hot against Sans’ neck.

“The w-wall.” Comic wouldn’t be able to eat on that table after they were through with it.

Sans hooks his arms around his brother’s neck, and Papyrus hefts him up as he stands, then carries him over to the closest vertical surface.

Papyrus peppers kisses on his neck. Sans yanks down his shirt, to give his lover more access. Papyrus rumbles in appreciation before dipping his head down to kiss and nip at Sans’ clavicle. Sans sighs happily. His legs wrap around Papyrus’ back, pressing him closer. Both their pelvis’ are flushed with magic.

“Mm, I need—need more, boss.” Papyrus loves it when Sans calls him that when they fuck. Sans loves how a simple word affects him, how the red glow of his eye sockets darkens to a deep, lustful maroon.

“God, Sans…”

Papyrus unzips his fly, pushing his pants and underwear just far enough down his pelvis to free his erection. Sans trembles with anticipation as Papyrus tugs his shorts and underwear off to the side. Sans is dripping, ready, so Papyrus pushes in.

Sans moans, his phalanges clawing at Papyrus’ shoulder blades.

Papyrus moves. He pounds into Sans, pushing him back roughly against the wall. Sans’ toes curl with pleasure.

“Boss, so  _ good _ , boss.”

Distantly, he hears the door to the dining hall creak open. Sans’ eye sockets crack open again. Standing there in the doorway is Comic, watching the pair of them with hollow eye sockets. Papyrus doesn’t notice, his thrusts growing erratic as he reaching the edge.

Sans presses his hand to Papyrus’ arm, weakly attempting to push him away.

“P-Pap,” He gasps out. “Pap, wait— _ oh _ …” Sans’ plea is swallowed up by a moan as pleasure overrides everything. He looks into Comic’s eyes as his orgasm rocks through him. He cants up against Papyrus, limbs shaking.

After a few more thrusts, Papyrus cums as well. Sans hums in pleasure at the feeling.

Papyrus leans down for a kiss, and Sans reciprocates sloppily.

After catching his breath, Papyrus slides back out of Sans. Unimpeded now, his cum drips down onto the floor.

When Sans remembers to look back at the door again, Comic is gone.

~*~

A few minutes later, after Sans and Papyrus cleaned themselves up and returned to the dining room table, Comic sauntered in like nothing was wrong. Sans remained tense through the entire dinner, waiting for Comic to raise the issue, but he acted so normally Sans almost wondered if he imagined Comic watching them.

But no—Sans had closed the door when he came in, while Comic left it ajar. Sans knows what he saw.

Papyrus seems to have taken to Comic. While Sans remained silent throughout the meal, Papyrus and Comic bantered back and forth. It’s exceedingly rare for anyone to speak to Papyrus like they’re on his level. Even rarer for Papyrus to not only tolerate, but enjoy it.

The following day, Sans and Comic return to the workshop. The machine is nearly finished now. Sans solders the last of the new metal to the machine, while Comic continues to reconfigure the tech.

The tension in the room is thick, but hell if Sans is going to be the one to break it.

It must be the heat from the soldering iron that makes his face warm. So what if Comic saw them. They’re the same person!

Sans continues to work in silence until there’s no more work for him to do. He shuts off the soldering iron, and drags his feet over to Comic.

“The hull’s fixed.” He announces. “And the glass dome casing should come in near the end of the week. So…anything else you need me to work on?”

Comic shrugs. “Guess not.”

Sans’ shoulders slump with relief. Has he actually managed to avoid talking about this? He makes towards the door.

“Great, then I’ll just—”

“Wait.”

God damn it.

Sans turns around. Comic rises, approaching him. Sans hates how the one inch height difference forces him to look up at Comic. The lights in his eye sockets have guttered out. Sans bristles.  _ Comic _ is trying to intimidate  _ him _ ?

“You’ve got some explaining to do, buddy.”

“Why should I have to tell you anything?”

“How long has it been going on?”

“Fuck you.” Sans turns on his heel. He doesn’t have to justify himself to anyone—not even himself.

Comic’s magic flares, and Sans’ soul is suddenly heavy. Sans buckles, pinned flat on his back by Comic’s magic. And shit, he’s  _ strong _ . Sans can’t wrest himself free. The hold on his soul won’t let him teleport, either. He’s trapped.

Comic crouches down beside him, watching him struggle and squirm.

“You feel like talkin’ now?”

“Why do you care so much?”

“Did you force him into it?”

“What? No!” How could he even think that of him? “You think Papyrus would ever do something like that if he didn’t want to?”

A bone construct forms in Sans’ hand. He lifts Sans’ chin up with it, to stare him in the eyes. 

“Answer the question.”

Fuck, he looks pissed. A tremor runs through Sans, but not one of fear.

“Look,  _ he _ approached  _ me _ , asshole. I don’t know how things are with your Papyrus, but  _ we _ need each other, okay?”

The tip of Comic’s magical attack pricks his neck. A thin trail of marrow spills down the vertebrae. Sans mewls—and Comic startles, surprised.

“Are you seriously…?”

Heat rises in Sans’ face. He wants to melt through the floor.

“Sh-Shut up.” Boss likes to be rough with him. He can’t help that his body gets worked up from the same treatment by a different monster.

Comic’s bone attack dissipates, spent magic showering over Sans’ body. Rather than release his grip on him, as Sans was assuming he would, Comic climbs on top of him.

“Wh-What’re you—?”

“I gotta admit, when I saw you, I was curious.” Comic hikes up Sans’ shirt, exposing his lower spine, his ribs. “I wondered how alike we really were. How much of us is the same.”

Comic presses down firmly on Sans’ spine. He gasps at the jolt of pleasure, hips rocking up.

“Yeah, that’s my spot too.” Comic’s voice has grown hoarse.

The weight of blue magic drops from Sans’ soul. Free now to move, he grabs his double by the front of his jacket, and crushes their mouths together. Comic deepens the kiss. His hands sneak their way back under Sans’ shirt, to drag up and down his ribs.

He shouldn’t do this. This—this is cheating on Papyrus, and—

—and god, Comic knows  _ exactly _ how to touch him, exactly what he needs.

Sans breaks apart from the kiss, panting. “I-It’s not cheating with you, is it?”

Comic pulls back. “If you wanna stop, we can. But otherwise…” Comic’s hand trails up his thigh, his palm pressing against the swell of magic beneath Sans’ shorts. “Not exactly cheating when it’s with yourself.”

The flimsy excuse is enough for Sans. He rolls his hips up, pressing into the firm strokes of Comic’s fingers.

Comic grips his shoulder. Sans’ head spins as they tumble through a shortcut, landing on Comic’s bed.

Comic pushes him down on the bed, climbing on top of him. He drags off Sans’ shorts, his underwear, tossing them carelessly off the side of the bed.

Sans fidgets as Comic stares at him, at the dripping magic Sans has formed for him. His legs fall open in invitation.

Comic grips Sans’ femurs as his tongue swipes a few gentle licks over Sans’ pussy. He must like the taste, because he pushes his tongue inside. Sans keens at the hot press of Comic’s tongue inside him. His fingers bunch in the sheets.

Abruptly, Comic pulls back. Sans blinks up at him, dazed.

“Wh-Why’d you stop?”

Comic pulls out his cell phone, and there’s the flash of a camera.

“That turned out well, don’t ya think?” He turns the phone around, to show Sans what he looks like now. Skull flushed, legs open, everything on full display.

“What’re you—?”

“Just going to give someone some incentive to get over here fast as his boney butt is able.” Before Sans can process what’s happening, he taps a few buttons and sends a message off.

“Are you crazy? Boss will kill you! He’ll kill both of us! He’ll—”

Comic shoves two fingers inside him.

“ _ Oh _ …”

“Trust me, I don’t think he’s gonna mind.” Comic withdraws his fingers, glistening with Sans’ slick. “So why don’t we put on a little show for him?”

Comic flops down onto the bed beside him.

“But you’re doing all the work.”

“Yeah, what else is new.”

Sans rolls on top of him. Comic’s erection is straining against his shorts. Sans frees it, taking it in his hand. Though not as long as Papyrus’, it’s definitely thicker.

Sans positions himself, and carefully lowers himself down until he’s seated fully on Comic’s dick. Once he adjusts, he starts moving.

“F-Fuck,” Comic rumbles. His hands fumble against Sans’ pelvis, urging him to go faster. “This is incredible.”

“Don’t tell me you’re going to cum already.” Sans snickers.

“Heh. Even I’m not that lazy, pal.”

He can hear boots storming down the hall, towards them. Sans twists around as well as he’s able, to see Papyrus throw open the door. Sans can feel the intense aura burning around him.

“Papyrus—”

Comic grabs Sans’ hips and pulls him down so Sans is buried in him all the way to the hilt. He gasps in ecstasy, dazed with the sudden burst of pleasure.

Comic grins at Papyrus. “Got him nice and warmed up.”

“I can see that.” Papyrus shuts the door, locks it.

Sans is about to crumble, kneel at Papyrus’ feet to beg forgiveness. But instead of the outburst he expects, Papyrus takes a seat, staring at the two of them on the bed.

“Continue.”

Is this a test? Does Papyrus really want him to continue? What should he—

“Hey.” Comic pats his femur. “Relax. Putting on a show, remember?”

That’s…that’s right. The two of them, for Papyrus. The thought of Sans being so desirable to Papyrus that he wants to watch both of them is the most arousing idea to him all day.

He begins thrusting down on Comic’s dick once more. He bends over, until he’s breathing against Comic’s neck.

“You—You said we were the same. You might know some of the things I like, but I also know stuff you haven’t even tried yet.”

Without any further warning he bites down on Comic’s clavicle,  _ hard _ . Sans knows exactly what he’s feeling, that rush of pain and pleasure. Comic’s eye socket’s clench shut, mouth dropping open in a moan as he cums.

Not finished with him, Sans tugs Comic up into a sitting position. Comic shrugs out of his jacket, so now he’s just in that black tank-top that shows off teasing glimpses of his ribs and sternum. While they’re still joined together, Sans kisses him. They make out sloppily, tongues tangling.

Sans sneaks a glance over at Papyrus. He sits there watching them, gaze half-lidded. One hand is between his legs, wrapped around his erection and stroking as he enjoys their show.

“Pap, join us?” Sans pulls apart from Comic. He pats the bed in invitation. His pussy throbs at the thought of both of them inside him, together.

Papyrus looks to Comic, almost as if asking for approval. Comic shrugs.

Now it’s Papyrus’ turn to tease them. He disrobes, far too slowly for Sans’ taste, before joining them on the bed.

Comic finally pulls out, allowing Sans to crawl over to Papyrus.

Sans’ hand wraps around Papyrus’ erection. His brother gives a low hiss of pleasure as Sans pumps his cock. Precum beads at the tip. It’d be a waste for it to hit the sheets, so Sans licks at the head of his cock, lapping up the precum.

“ _ Sans _ .”

Papyrus grips the back of his skull and drives Sans’ mouth deeper down onto his cock.

The mattress creaks behind him, and Sans feels Comic’s shaft pressing against him again. His protests are muffled around the girth of Papyrus’ cock, so Comic plunges inside him. Comic pushes him forward, so he sinks deeper onto Papyrus.

The room is filled with sighs and moans of pleasure as the three adjust to this new position. Papyrus and Comic develop a rhythm; Comic pushes Sans forward, and Papyrus thrusts him back.

Sans can hardly think. His arms drop to his sides and he lets the two of them have their way with him.

“S-Shit,” Comic pants. “He takes cock like he was meant for it.”

Papyrus huffs a laugh.

“That’s my Sans,” He pats Sans’ cheek. “You’re a wonderful little slut, aren’t you?”

Sans answers by giving Papyrus’ cock a few hard sucks.

“S-Sans—” Papyrus grunts.

Papyrus’ cock pulses, and then his seed is gushing down Sans’ throat in hot spurts. Sans swallows all he can, though some drips down his face as well.

Chest heaving, Papyrus removes his softening cock.

“Good, Sans, very good.” He praises.

His fingers wipe the glaze of cum off Sans’ chin, then hook inside his mouth. Sans sucks on his phalanges, staring up at Papyrus with adoration.

“Hnn, the two of you are so fucking hot,” Comic growls.

Papyrus pulls away his fingers, leaving Sans free to gasp and whimper as Comic’s thick cock pounds inside him. Sans’ hands scrabble for purchase on Papyrus’ thighs to steady himself.

With a choked-off moan, his double cums inside him. Sans bucks against him as his own orgasm hits, his claws digging into Papyrus’ femurs hard enough to draw blood.

Comic releases him, and Sans flops down onto the mattress between the pair of them, bones rattling as he comes down from the massive high.

Papyrus hefts him into his arms. 

“Don’t you try to fall asleep yet, lazybones.” His phalanges brush against Sans’ tailbone, slipping back around to rub at Sans’ pussy, which is slick with his and Comic’s cum. “We’re not nearly finished with you yet.”

~*~

The rest of the night passed in a blur of lust and passion, Papyrus and Comic switching positions, holes, the whole night through, swaddling Sans in a delicious haze of pleasure.

It’s a good thing he finished his half of the repairs already; the day after, Sans is too sore to do much of anything other than lounge around in bed.

He’s up and moving again, three days later, when Comic gets the machine back to full operating capacity. Both Papyrus and Sans are there to see him off. Sans lets Comic keep his old clothes—a bit of something to remember their universe by.

Comic rocks back and forth on his heels, gaze darting from the machine to them.

“So, I guess this is it.”

“Make sure to go straight home.” Papyrus commands. “Don’t ruin anyone else’s lawns.”

“Ok.”

Comic’s gaze slides over to him. Sweat drips down the back of Sans’ skull. Shit, is he expecting some sort of sappy farewell?

Comic rolls his eyes. He pulls Sans close, giving him a familial skeleton kiss on the skull. Sans flushes.

“Later, Sans 1.”

“Maybe we should’ve stuck with Sans 2, because you’re a shitass comedian.”

Comic presses a hand to his chest, feigning hurt.

“Well they do say you’re your own worst critic.”

Comic climbs into the machine. The glass dome slides overtop, encasing him inside. He taps several buttons, and the machine shudders to life. He waves at the brothers below.

There’s a rush of air that forces Sans to shield his eyes with his arm. When the wind dies down again, his double and the machine have vanished.

“Guess it worked.”

“Good.” Says Papyrus. “Imagine if he was trapped here for much longer. Two times the filth. Two times the terrible humor.”

“Aw come on, boss.” Sans cajoles. “He wasn’t  _ that _ bad.”

“Utterly deplorable.” Papyrus disagrees, though there’s no real heat to his words. He taps a finger to his chin, thoughtful. “But if there had been two  _ Papyruses _ , instead…”

Sans cozies up to Papyrus’ side. His brother permits it, even wraps an arm around him to bring him closer.

“You’re the only Papyrus I need, boss.”

Papyrus shoves him off. “Ugh, disgusting sentiment. The other Sans rubbed off on you.”

“He certainly rubbed one off  _ on _ me.”

“Oh, my god.”


	4. You’re Gonna Have a Bud Time [Underfell, Underswap, Swapfell, Fellcest]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> COMMISSIONED FIC: While hanging out at Red’s place, Slim and Stretch pass the time with their close friend Mary Jane.
> 
> [Underfell AU, Underswap AU, Underfell AU, Implied fellcest, Teen content]

Red’s edgelord brother is out on a week-long training session with his Undyne, which is the only reason Slim and Stretch are allowed inside their house for an extended visit. Stretch has crashed at Red’s place before, and vice versa, but Slim is new to their little friend group.

Right now Red is passed out on his mattress. His head is buried in the greasy ball of sheets at the edge of the bed, which muffles his snores.

Stretch and Slim, sitting at the foot of the bed, had been chatting (turns out they both love gushing about their Sanses, go figure) and now a companionable lull has fallen over them.

Stretch reaches into the pocket of his hoodie, and pulls out a joint and his lighter. The lighter had been a gift from Undyne, the plastic decorated with anime-style bones. Slim eyes him as he lights it, and takes a puff.

“That’s some good shit,” Stretch sighs. Muffet grows some real nice kush. He can feel the stress melting right off his bones.

He holds the joint out towards Slim.

“Want some?”

At first he thinks Slim will refuse, but then he accepts the joint, pinching it delicately between two phalanges.

“Don’t tell m’lord,” he murmurs, before taking a long drag. He exhales, the smoke curling out through his mouth, drifting out through his loose t-shirt.

The mattress behind them creaks. 

“What smells like ass?” Red grumbles, sitting up.

“Having a little party down here.” After a second toke, Slim passes the joint back to him. Stretch holds it up so Red can see it. “You want join us?”

“Wha—fuck, you can’t smoke in the house.” Sans groans. He flops back onto the bed. “You dicks, Boss is gonna kill me.”

“He’s gotta learn to chill.” Stretch says.

“Red, you know what you should do?” Slim pipes up.

“What?” Red asks, wary.

“Get him to smoke some of this stuff.” Slim says, sagely. “It’ll unclench that asshole of his right off.”

Red sputters, his face warming.

“I’ve got more,” Stretch says, helpfully.

He pulls out a second joint, holding them both in one hand.

“Hey, guys, look.” He holds up his hand. “I’m double  _ jointed _ .”

Slim bursts into laughter, like it’s the funniest shit he’s heard in years. Stretch is pretty sure Slim’s wheezy laughter is the funniest thing  _ he’s _ ever heard, so he starts laughing, too. They soon collapse in a fit of laughter, leaning on each other for support.

“Ugh, I’m going to go watch TV,” Red grouses, padding out of the room.

Slim blinks owlishly. “Is he going to get snacks?”

“I dunno.” But snacks sure sound like a great idea right about now. He leans towards the ajar door, raising his voice: “Hey Red! What’s the snack situation?”

Red doesn’t shout anything back, but they can hear the distant sound of the TV playing.

“I think he’s ignoring us.”

“Rude.” Slim takes another hit. “Guess one tight asshole deserves another.”

Stretch nudges him. “He didn’t say we couldn’t help ourselves.”

Slim perks up. “Also true.

Arm in arm, they stumble their way downstairs.


	5. Possession [Swapcest, Yandere King Sans]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> COMMISSIONED FIC: Sans has lost much to the human. He’s not letting go of Papyrus.
> 
> [Underswap AU, Swapcest, Yandere Sans, King Sans, Explicit Content]

Sans shuts off his alarm after the first ring, and sits up in bed. Papyrus had moved out from under his arm sometime in the night. He’s curled near the edge of the bed, his breathing deep and even. The brief blare of the alarm wasn’t enough to rouse him.

Sans reaches over. His fingertips graze against the narrow planes of his brother’s face, before skimming down to give his shoulder a shake. 

“Time to wake up, Papy.”

He’s awake instantly at the sound of Sans’ voice. It’s so different compared to their years in Snowdin, when it’d take ages of pleading and prodding to get him out the door in the morning. They’re both different now, Sans supposes. The human’s rampage took much from them, but also gave them the crown. They’ve been isolated, handed unfathomable responsibility. Both of them have had to adapt to their new roles.

As he does every morning, Sans goes into their shared walk-in closet and carefully selects Papyrus’ outfit. Papyrus needs to be looked after. Without Sans, he’d wear the same threadbare, unwashed outfit he always had before.

Today’s special; they’re meeting with old Snowdin acquaintances. Sans does not want them to get overfamiliar at the reunion, so he choses garments that will emphasize Papyrus’ new status and role. An ankle-length dress, quite similar to what the previous Queen had worn. Its demure cut barely hints at the figure beneath—Papyrus’ body is only to be seen by Sans’ eyes.

Sans returns to the bedroom with the dress draped over one arm, holding it carefully so its hem doesn’t drag over the carpet, clean though it may be. Papyrus has already disrobed, his sleepwear folded neatly at the end of the bed. His ivory bones are long, elegant, their perfection marred only by a thin scar across the front of his neck vertebra. A farewell gift from the human. Sans doesn’t like to look at it.

There’s a slight twitch in Papyrus’ jaw as Sans lays the dress out for him to see, but he utters no complaint. It’s great progress, which Sans elects to promptly reward. 

Sans climbs into his little brother’s lap, and engages him in a deep kiss. Papyrus never moves much when they kiss, leaving Sans to do all the work. Such a lazybones. Maybe Sans should lend him his dating manual, so he can learn how to be better.

Sans breaks off the kiss, and bumps his forehead against Papyrus’.

“Show me your soul, Papy.”

Sans reaches into the hollow space between his brother’s ribcage, hand open. Papyrus’ soul materializes, nestling itself in Sans’ palm. He pulls it out. Now matter how often he gazes upon it, he is always stuck by its simple beauty. Sans plants a tender kiss atop its surface, reveling in how the light touch makes Papyrus shiver.

Sans’ thumbs rub circles into his soul. Papyrus flushes adorably at the stimulation. He can feel heat warming Papyrus’ pelvic girdle. Sans broadcasts feelings into the connection with his brother—supplication, devotion, arousal—and with a gasp Papyrus forms a plump mound of magic for him.

“Very good, Papy.” His brother’s arousal spikes at the praise.

“S-Sans, please,” Papyrus rasps. He wiggles against Sans’ heavy weight atop him, needing friction.

Sans gives his brother’s soul a final firm squeeze, before he returns it to his chest.

“Be patient.”

Sans slips off of him. He rummages beneath their bed, and pulls out a black box. He opens the lock—set to Papyrus’ birthdate—and selects the toy for the day.

When he rejoins his brother on the bed with his prize, Papyrus balks. His legs close, and he scoots back away from him.

“I don’t need that. Please, don’t make me wear it. It won’t fit—”

“Hush,” Sans shushes him. “You know I know what’s best for you. This will protect you.”

He strokes Papyrus’ face soothingly, until his panicked breathing settles again. Then, he returns his attention to the chastity belt in his hand. He’d had it specially made, the straps the finest leather, the size to Papyrus’ exact specifications. Attached to the belt is a thick vaginal plug. It’ll keep Papyrus stimulated throughout the day, keep his sexual magic manifested. But it won’t be enough to make him cum. Sans grabs a bottle of lube from the bedside table, making sure the plug is slick, coated.

“Lie back, and lift your hips.”

Papyrus obeys. Sans wraps the top belt around him, and gestures for him to lower his pelvis again.

Papyrus moans as Sans pushes the plug inside.

“See, that wasn’t so bad.” Sans flicks his clit, just to watch him jolt.

Sans finishes buckling and fastening the rest of the harness. And then comes the most fun part. Sans slides in two small locks, one at the middle of the belt, one to anchor the plug. He clicks both into pace, and puts the one key to both of them in his cell phone inventory.

Papyrus’ hips twitch with his aborted climax as Sans helps him to dress. Its bulky cut obscures any hint of the chastity belt. Sans leads him to the full-length mirror in their bathroom, so Papyrus can see how beautiful he looks.

~*~

After getting dressed in his own magnificent, kingly garb, Sans leads Papyrus by the hand to the banquet hall. As per his request, the servants have prepared a hot breakfast for the royal couple, and left them to serve themselves. Sans indulges in a stack of blueberry pancakes, and sets foods on Papyrus’ plate that he knows he loves: banana nut muffins, honeyed porridge, small tart cakes. Hardly the most healthy, but Papyrus need to be plumped up. Sans will give him whatever foods he wants if it’ll pad out his magic, and protect his brother’s eggshell bones.

Sans spears a cut of pancakes, and pops it into his mouth, chewing briskly; their first meeting of the day is fairly early in the morning. They can’t afford to dawdle. 

He looks up from his breakfast to see that Papyrus has barely picked at his own meal. He’s ripping off small parts of the muffin and pinching them flat between his thumb and forefinger, letting the crumbs roll off onto the plate.

“Papy.”

Papyrus drops his hand, startled. Sans smiles sweetly at him.

“Don’t play with your food.”

Sans watches him pick up the muffin, and take a tiny bite.

Irritation flashes through him. Is Papyrus being deliberately difficult?

Sans grips Papyrus’ wrist and shoves the muffin further into his mouth. Papyrus chokes.

“Eat.” Sans orders.

Sans will cram it down his throat if he has to. He keeps an unrelenting grip on Papyrus’ wrist until he eats the whole thing.

Sans lets go, and watches with satisfaction as Papyrus digs into the remainder of his breakfast with gusto.

~*~

An hour later finds the pair of them at the archway leading into one of the many gardens tucked away within the palace. The throne room felt a bit too formal—they’re meeting with old friends, after all! So instead, he’d had servants bring out appropriate outdoor furniture, for them to discuss matters with a pleasant backdrop.

Sans grabs Papyrus’ hand, tangling their fingers together. Papyrus gives him a brittle smile. There are pearls of sweat dripping down the back of his skull, and a faint dusting of a blush on his cheekbones. If Papyrus behaves well enough throughout their meeting, Sans might reward him.

Papyrus follows him out into the garden. The weather’s warm, and a gentle breeze makes the golden flowers sway.

Papyrus walks with but a hint of awkwardness, an affable grin on his face that betrays nothing.

Their two guests are already seated, but they rise upon the royal couple’s approach. They’re two pillars of the local Snowdin community. Bearnard, a brown bear monster with a keen interest in local politics, and the owner of the town’s favorite watering hole, Muffet.

“Hello, dearie.” The spider greets Papyrus first, before curtseying to the King. Bearnard bows as well.

“Hello, friends!” Sans says, cheerily. Papyrus gives Muffet a small, jerky nod. “Go on, sit down!”

Muffet and Bearnard take their seats on either side of the rectangular table, while Sans and Papyrus sit at the head. Papyrus winces as they sit down, but his expression quickly smoothens out.

“Can I get you anything? Let me get you drinks.” Sans gestures towards a servant, who had been standing at a respectable distance away from the conversation. She nods and disappears back into the castle to fetch refreshments.

“Thank you for seeing us on such short notice, your highness.” Bearnard says.

“You don’t have to call me that,” Sans laughs. “You know us. We’re just Sans and Papyrus, after all.”

“You both look…well.” Muffet says, haltingly. Sans can tell she’s put off by Papyrus’ outfit. The servants had been uncomfortable at first, too. But Sans has made them understand. Papyrus is his judge, his closest advisor, and his Queen.

“So, what seems to be the problem?” Sans asks.

“We’ve been having issues with food deliveries.” Muffet explains. “Supply orders from the capitol keep getting waylaid in Waterfall.”

Bearnard jumps in. “They keep telling us that the food is “accidentally” spilled into the river. One time is unfortunate, but understandable. But Snowdin hasn’t received the last five shipments that were placed.”

“It’s gotten to the point where my café and the general store are giving out whatever reserves we have, and even those are beginning to dwindle.”

“That’s terrible!” Sans says, voice thick with sympathy. He isn’t one to believe the worst in people, but five missing shipments is an awful lot to just be a mistake. “Papy, do you have any experience with this? Have incidents like this happened before?”

All eyes turn to Papyrus. He fidgets at first, uncomfortable under the scrutiny, but eventually speaks. 

“Somethin’ similar happened before, ‘bout three years back. Stuff dissapearin’. People were hoarding and stealing stuff, because there was a rumor going around that another human fell into the Ruins. Turned out to be a false alarm.” Papyrus fiddles with the long white sleeve of his dress. “If I had to guess, I’d say people are still freaked over the last human’s arrival. They’re still panicking.”

It’s understandable. The human had taken all their heroes from them. The Queen and the absent King, the Royal Scientist, the Captain of the Guard, and even their one popstar…all gone. It’s been a little over three months since Sans was elected, but monsters are still scrambling for stability.

“Well, we will not let this continue.” Sans declares. He’s the new King. He has to protect everyone. “I’ll assign guards to the next convoy, and you’ll be reimbursed by the royal treasury for any previous payments on the failed deliveries.”

The Snowdin residents are grateful, and when servants arrive with pitchers of ice water and lemonade, he sends one of them back out to fetch him a pen and paper so he can draw up an official order.

Sans had always gotten along well with Bearnard—tended to get along well with most, in fact—so they keep a companionable conversation flowing. Muffet only interjects occasionally, and Papyrus speaks only when spoken to directly. When the servant returns again with what he requested, he pens a letter to the temporary acting head of the guard. He’ll assign trustworthy guards to protect the trade caravan. After listing his instructions, he signs the bottom of the letter with a characteristic flourish of a signature: The Magnificent King Sans.

Sans doesn’t like how Muffet’s black, beady eyes keep flickering over to Papyrus. One secret that he’s never been able to pry out of his brother is how close he’d been to that spider. He wouldn’t even mind if they had fooled around together. He wouldn’t. But it’s the not knowing that’s killing him.

“I hate to cut this short,” Sans says, apologetic, after passing the signed letter over to Bearnard for him to pocket. “But we should prepare for our next meeting of the day.”

“Of course, of course!” Bearnard squeezes one of Sans’ hands between his two massive paws. “Thank you again, my King.”

“Mweh heh, I told you, call me Sans.”

Bearnard smiles. “Thank you, Sans.”

Sans sees Bearnard off to the front door of the palace, which is quite close to this particular garden, just a few hallways away. Papyrus trails behind with Muffet. Sans wants to tell them to catch up, but Bearnard pulls him back into conversation, and it’d be impolite to interrupt.

It’s not until they’ve reached the threshold of the palace that he thinks to look back again. What he sees makes his magic roil. Papyrus and Muffet have stopped walking altogether, about twenty feet back. They’re speaking, too low for him to hear. Muffet leans over him, her face the picture of concern. One of her hands comes up, and she presses the flat of her palm against his skull, she’s  _ touching _ his Papyrus—

Within a blink Sans is next to them, with a grin and empty sockets. Muffet reels back, startled.

“Muffet, if you’ll excuse us. Good day.”

“Wait!” She says, but Sans has already grabbed Papyrus by the wrist, leading him back into the garden and slamming the door shut behind him. There aren’t any servants or guards in the garden; they are alone.

“What was that?” Sans interrogates him, barely keeping his voice level.

“I-It was nothing.”

“Papyrus.”

“Really!” He insists. “She was just—she saw that I was very f-flushed, she was worried about me!”

“I’ve told you and told you, no one can touch you, only I can touch you,” He can’t get that moment out of his mind, when he had come back from practice with Alphys to see his baby bro dying in the snow, magic bleeding from a knife wound to his neck, left there to die.

Sans turns Papyrus’ soul blue, dropping him to the ground. He’s crushing the flowers, but in the heat of the moment Sans doesn’t care.

“You’re mine,” Sans declares, hiking up Papyrus’ dress. “I’ll prove it as many times as I have to.”

“Sans, no.” Papyrus whimpers. He claws at the ground, churns up the dirt, but he can’t shake Sans’ hold.

Sans removes the key from his inventory, and unlocks both sets of locks. He unbuckles the belt, and slides the chastity belt down. Papyrus cries out as Sans grips the base of the plug and slides it out of him.

Sans tosses the chastity belt to the side. Papyrus’ juices trickle out of his exposed entrance. Sans reaches a hand into his pants. The sight of Papyrus splayed out and defenseless before him already has him worked up. Sans frees his erection, wrapping a hand around it. He palms his cock roughly.

“Sans, not here, please. Someone’ll see us.”

“I don’t care.” Sans growls.

Sans grips Papyrus legs by the backs of his knees, and lifts them, splaying them open. His phalanges tighten on Papyrus’ legs as he pushes in.

Papyrus shrieks. “S-Stop, Sans, it’s—it’s too much!”

Sans rams into him, each thrust making Papyrus rock and jolt. Papyrus is filthy, dirt and pollen staining his clothes, the back of his pelvis. Sans is going to have to scrub every dip and groove of his tailbone to remove all the dirt particles that are getting lodged in there.

Sans pistons inside Papyrus. His brother has never had enough stamina to keep up with Sans’ own energy. His mouth goes slack, eye lights glazing over, unable to struggle.

Sans looks down from Papyrus’ face, to where their magics are joined together. It’s eternally fascinating to him, to watch his cock moving inside Papyrus, stretching him wider.

“S-Sans…”

Papyrus is close. The constant stimulation from having the plug inside him has him desperate for release. His toes curl, his breath hitches as his body tightens—

And Sans slows his pace.

Papyrus lifts his head weakly, meeting Sans’ gaze, his eyes full of confusion.

“I don’t think you deserve a reward after that little stunt, do you?”

“Please, Sans. I’m close…”

“Begging won’t get you anywhere, Papy. Only good behavior.”

“I-I’ll be good. I will!”

Sans pulls out. He’s almost painfully hard, ready to cum himself. But Papyrus needs to learn.

Sans rises, and releases the blue magic hold over his brother.

“On your knees.”

Shakily, Papyrus picks himself up. One of his hands strays down, to attend to his own aching need, but Sans smacks his hand away.

“You won’t cum until I say.” Sans nudges the head of his cock against Papyrus’ cheek, smearing precum over the bone.

Papyrus parts his mouth, and Sans shoves inside. Papyrus gags around his length, but does his best to give him a proper blowjob. Tears bud in his eye sockets. Sans brushes them away with his thumbs. There’s nothing to cry about. This is just some necessary tough love.

Sans groans with satisfaction as Papyrus starts to suck and swallow around him. Sans grips the back of Papyrus’ skull and presses him close, burying his nasal bone against his pelvis.

Sans sighs his brother’s name as he climaxes, cum spurting down Papyrus’ throat, splashing against the insides of his ribs.

Sans pats Papyrus’ skull gratefully, his legs quivering with the aftershocks of his orgasm.

He pulls out. Papyrus is panting for air, the tip of his tongue lolling out of his mouth. His face is flushed, and sticky with cum and tears.

Sans readjusts his pants, then locates the chastity belt. Thankfully the sticky plug had avoided contact with the ground; he brushes off the few crumbs of soil that clung to the harness and returns to Papyrus.

Papyrus starts to protest. “But I haven’t—” 

Sans silences him with a leveled look. He lowers Papyrus back down, into a sitting position, and starts putting the belt back on.

“We have another meeting during lunch. We’re going over the budget with Greensbury.”

Sans pushes the plug back inside him. Papyrus’ hips rock up, but it doesn’t hit deep enough to bring him to orgasm.

“It’s important that we get the particulars of the budget just right. The meeting could take hours.” Sans smiles as he cinches the locks back into place. “If you’re good this time, then afterwards, I’ll let you cum.”

Sans presses his closed teeth to Papyrus’ forehead in a gentle skeleton kiss, as he’s done a thousand times before, and will do a thousand times more.

“Get cleaned up in our room. And remember, I love you, Papy.”

Papyrus’ breath hitches, and he covers his face as he starts to sob.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This oneshot is now a series, please find the continuation on my fic page. ^^


	6. A Fish out of Water [Alphdyne]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> COMMISSIONED FIC: A fish meets a lizard and falls head over heels in love. 
> 
> [Alphdyne, Gen content]

Undyne tromps through the garbage dump, her boots squelching in the muck. Last week she’d chased off some kids messing around on the trash piles. The mountains of refuse are precariously stacked; one wrong move could start a dangerous avalanche. Undyne had chased them all off with a warning, and she’s satisfied to see that they’d taken her to heart. There are no childish exclamations echoing in the caves, no patter of feet. 

She’s about halfway through the entire dump. She could turn back now—it’s doubtful the kids would scamper further down—but she might as well make a sweep of the entire area now that she’s here. Her armor is going to need a thorough cleaning regardless.

Undyne rounds a corner. The edge of the garbage dump is on a downhill slope. The water sloshes stray bits of garbage further down, towards the Abyss below. No one knows where the Abyss leads. Some say it’s just a long drop to nothing, while others believe ancient aquatic monsters live in the deep dark, too large and too strange for the rest of monster society. Undyne doesn’t really care one way or the other. But if any of those punks crawled up to the dump and started causing trouble, she’d sure as hell knock ‘em back in.

There’s someone by the Abyss drop off. Undyne squints. A yellow monster? Stars, it better not be that kid that keeps following her around. He’s not even out of stripes yet!

“Hey, you shouldn’t be over there!” Undyne yells, sloshing through the water over to him.

It’s not the tyke, as she’d thought, but instead a full-grown lizard monster who’d been sitting, legs dangling over the precipice. She startles at Undyne’s approach, scrambling upright. Her outfit is soaked with water and sludge from the waist down.

“Oh! Um, I-I, um…” She clicks her claws together.

“What are you doing out here?” Undyne grips her by the arm, tugging her back from the Abyss. “You’re way too close to the edge, it’s dangerous.”

The lizard monster gapes at her. Her mouth tries to form words, but she just keeps stuttering strings of nonsense. Is she intimidated? Is that it?

Undyne removes her helmet, and shakes her hair out. She’s got to look more approachable now, right? Undyne tucks the helmet under one arm, and holds the other out.

“Let’s try again. I’m Undyne.”

“A-Alphys.” They shake hands. Alphys’ grip is wet and clammy. She doesn’t hold Undyne’s gaze for long, her eyes shifting restlessly around the dump. “We’ve, um, m-met before. I’m the R-Royal Scientist.”

“Oh…oh! That’s right, I saw you at Asgore’s party.” 

Now it’s coming back to her. She normally avoids stuffy social gatherings like the plague. If she attends she has to wear scratchy clothes with too many ruffles, and suplexing people and/or objects is forbidden. It sucks! But she hadn’t been able to wiggle out of attending as she normally did, because Asgore had invited her personally, staring at her with those big dumb soulful eyes. During the party, Asgore introduced her to the new Royal Scientist. (Who had been the Royal Scientist before Alphys? Their name escapes her mind at the moment.) After Asgore’s introduction, Alphys had given Undyne a jerky nod and fumbled out an excuse to leave.

“So what’re you doing out here? It’s kind of far from the Lab, doc.”

Undyne watches the red blush creep up the scientist’s cheeks.

“I-I was just, um. Thinking! About….the Abyss!” Alphys gestures back to it. “It’s f-f-fascinating, isn’t it? So many t-th-theories on where it leads to!”

“And what do you think?” This is the last stop on her patrol; she’s free to kill some time with Alphys. Good thing, too—by the way she lights up at Undyne’s question, this might take a while.

Alphys adjusts her glasses. “W-Well, you know the standard theory that it leads to the same magma that’s below Hotland? Well,  _ I _ think that…”

~*~

They talked for hours. Well, more like Alphys talked for hours, and Undyne interjected occasionally. But it had been nice. Once Alphys really got into it, it was like all her nervousness melted away. And, in the privacy of her own mind, Undyne can admit that seeing Alphys get so whipped up into a passionate rant is….cute. The way her eyes sparkle, her cheeks flush, her hands gesticulate wildly. It’s utterly adorable.

Before leaving the dump, they exchanged UnderNet IDs. Undyne can only guess at Alphys’ sleep schedule, because no matter what time Undyne messages her, day or night, Alphys is sure to respond within seconds. Alphys was the first to suggest a hangout, and introduced Undyne to the wonders of anime. Alphys had been so nervous to show it to her, which Undyne can’t understand—human history turns out to be really freakin’ awesome!

They settle into a routine. Saturdays are Undyne’s free days, so just about every Friday night they hang out. Typically Alphys comes over to her place, because Hotland is so, well.  _ Hot _ . And she’d rather not cook herself half to death to see a friend.

Tonight is one such night. Undyne tidies around her house while she waits for Alphys to arrive. Her definition of tidying up is throwing all the stray clutter into the nearest closet. Papyrus would  _ scream _ . 

She’s full of nervous energy. She loves hanging out with Alphys, she’s so cool and funny, but with each visit she just seems to get more and more flustered around her.

“NGAH!! Keep it together, Undyne!” She scolds herself.

She checks the fridge, confirms for the third time that yes, she did get Alphys’ favorite soda. She’s prepared and ready.

Undyne fidgets, fiddling around in the kitchen until there’s a knock at the door. She’s here.

All at once, Undyne is struck by the thought that what she’s wearing isn’t adequate. She looks down at the black tank top and jeans. It’s her normal longue wear. It’s fine, right? The top showcases her impressive biceps and everything. She’s overthinking this. (Still, she vows to search the dump for any anime t-shirts. Alphys would love it.)

Undyne throws open the door. Alphys is waiting, five DVDs clutched in her claws. She’s wearing bright pink sweatpants, and a unicorn t-shirt. Kawaii style, as she calls it.

“Hey Alphy!” Undyne lets her in.

“H-Hello, Undyne.” She shows Undyne the covers of the DVDs she brought. Each one depicts a cute octopus girl in a large fishbowl. “Today I thought we could watch Octo-Hime! It’s about this half-octopus, half-girl, who wants to attend a human school, a-and wear a school uniform and everything.”

Human history could be really strange sometimes. She gets the big swords and all, but she’s never heard of a human with tentacles instead of legs. Maybe Octo-Hime was related to the human mages, or even a monster. Can a monster and a human even have a kid together?

After grabbing some snacks and their drinks—tea for her, soda for Alphys—they move upstairs. Undyne’s bedroom has a television in it, but not a couch, so they end up sitting together on her bed.

Undyne pops the first DVD in and their marathon begins. After some initial puzzlement—“How does she breathe underwater without gills?”—Undyne finds herself wrapped up in this new chapter of human history.

Time passes. They’re ten episodes in, and their pile of snacks is halfway depleted. Alphys has sagged a bit, leaning against Undyne. Their bare arms press together.

Undyne wants to wrap her around her, and pull her in for a kiss. She could do it. She could. Alphys is sitting right there. She just have to lean over, and…

But what if she doesn’t like it? They’ve got a good thing—a  _ great _ thing—going right now. She doesn’t want to mess that up.

“Look, look!” Alphys tugs on Undyne’s arm. “This is the best part!”

Undyne lets herself be content with the small brush of contact they have now.

_ ~*~ _

Two days after the Octo-Hime marathon, her star pupil shows up for their training session.

“Greetings, Undyne!” Papyrus chirps, holding out yet another bone wrapped in a bow.

“Papyrus!”

Undyne catches him in a headlock, and gives him a friendly noogie.

“Nyeh, Undyne!” Papyrus squirms, but can’t break free of her hold.

“Take it, Pap! Take my friendship!!”

“Your friendship is too strong! And pointy!”

Undyne has mercy on Papyrus, finally letting him wriggle free.

“Come on in, punk.”

Undyne stores Papyrus’ gift with the others, and then it’s time to prep for their lesson.

Papyrus dons his apron. It originally said “Kiss the Cook”, but Papyrus has modified it to say “Kiss the Great Cook Papyrus”. 

He hums, grabbing the pasta and tomatoes while Undyne sets a pot in the sink and turns on the faucet.

She stares down into the pot, watching it fill slowly. Her mind can’t help but drift to the same thing it’s been preoccupied with for days now.

Is it possible that Alphys likes her back? The only other people she mentions regularly are Asgore and that annoying robot. She definitely admires Asgore, but who wouldn’t? Fluffy though he may be, he’s still the king! And she gets the vibe that Mettaton is more like an old friend then anything else. Alphys goes out of her way for her. She makes her that chilly pink stuff to help her cool off when she reaches Hotland, and—

“Er, Undyne?” She startles. Papyrus is watching her, eye sockets narrowed. “I think you’ve got enough water.”

Undyne looks down at the pot, and bites back a curse. She really zoned out; the pot is overflowing, water spilling over the sides. She scrambles to turn off the tap, and then pours the excess water down the drain. She can feel Papyrus’ curious stare boring holes into her.

“S-So, how are the Snowdin puzzles? You should update me on them. Like right now.”

Undyne sets the pot on the burner and cranks up the heat beneath it until the flame is roaring. Papyrus folds his arms, not easily deterred.

“While normally I would enjoy discussing my various puzzle improvements, I have the most sneaking suspicion you are trying to distract me!”

She’s not getting out of this. Papyrus steers her to one of the dining room chairs, and he takes the other chair across from her.

“You’ve always told me that passion is the most essential spice for cooking! How do you think the spaghetti would turn out today if your heart wasn’t in it?” Papyrus scolds. “So tell the Great Papyrus what has you so off the rocker!”

“It’s…” Embarrassing. Dumb. She doesn’t want to say it! “You’ve got to keep this between just us, okay?”

“Cross my bones and hope to dust!”

“There’s…someone I hang out with a lot, and I think I might… _ like _ them, you know?”

She looks up from the table. Papyrus is gaping at her, and—wait, is he blushing?

“Undyne. While I am most flattered, I must decline your profession of affection. I do love you, but only in the most platonic of senses.” Papyrus puts a hand to his forehead. “Oh, how cruel I’ve been, to lead you on—”

“Papyrus, you goof!” Undyne slaps her hand on the table. “I’m not talking about you!”

“Oh. Alright.” Papyrus is visibly relieved. “Then who?”

“They’re, um.” Undyne gestures uselessly. She doesn’t want to flat out say the name, because then it’d be too real. “They’re short, really into science…”

Papyrus’ face scrunches up.

“ _ Sans _ ?”

“No! Stars, no.” Papyrus’ older brother is constantly gross, incessantly lazy. It’s hard to believe he and Papyrus are related, sometimes. On the list of people Undyne finds attractive, Sans would be dead last. In the negatives. Well, maybe a few notches above Jerry.

“I am quite relieved. Were you to love any skeleton, I would be the obvious choice.” Papyrus declares. “Sans is great at his best but he is not as great as the Great Papyrus. Obviously.”

“Uh, right.” Sometimes it’s better to just nod along with Papyrus instead of think too hard about what he says.

Papyrus reaches across the table, laying his hand overtop Undyne’s. His eyes shine.

“Undyne, you need not be afraid. The Great Papyrus shall support you!”

“Thanks, Pap.” She’s not good at all this emotional stuff. But she has to stop being a wuss and let it out. “Her name is…Alphys.” She admits, quietly.

“What was that?”

“Alphys,” She says, a little louder.

“Where is the _ passion _ , Undyne?!”

“Her name is Alphys!” Undyne leaps up on the table. “I’m in love with Alphys. She’s cute and smart and I just love her!”

Papyrus applauds. “Now you just have to tell her that!”

Undyne deflates, stepping down from the table.

“…I can’t.”

“Why not? Just copy what you just did, in front of her! And you’ll be sure to win your lady love.”

“She might not like me like that, Pap.”

“Nonsense!” Papyrus scoffs. “You just have to—”

“Wait.” Undyne sits up. Sniffs. “Does the air smell kind of…smoky?”

Papyrus gasps. “Undyne, the stove!”

“Shit!” Undyne darts back into the kitchen. The pot is starting to melt from the intensity of the flames beneath it. “Double shit.” She can’t let her house burn down again.

With Papyrus’ help she manages to quell the fire before it gets too out of hand. Once the house is spared the hungry flames, Papyrus tries again to convince her to confess, but Undyne remains obstinate. She’s not ready. Not yet.

~*~

“Undyne, Undyne!” 

She’d been training in front of Papyrus’ house when said skeleton bursts out the door, waving her inside. “Alphys and Mettaton are on TV with the human!”

“What?!” Undyne dissipates the energy spear she’d been using and rushes inside, leaping onto the couch. Papyrus shuts the door, and perches on the couch next to her.

Sure enough, the human is on a MTT quiz show. Alphys is behind Mettaton, gesturing answers to the human behind the robot’s back.

“Is that allowed?” Papyrus frowns, hand straying to his cellphone to call in Alphys’ cheating.

Undyne swats his hand away. “Come on, give the human a fighting chance. These questions are ridiculous!”

Papyrus sniffs primly. “Not if you’ve kept up with his specials!”

Undyne rolls her eyes. 

_ “Would you smooch a ghost?”  _ Mettaton’s voice booms through the television set.

The human gives them a thumbs up.

Papyrus gasps, scandalized. 

They continue to watch, rapt. Mettaton finally catches on that Alphys is helping, and throws out a punshing question:

_ “Who does Dr. Alphys have a crush on?” _

Like always, four options flash up on the screen: Undyne, Asgore, the human, don’t know.

….Undyne?

It’s  _ her name _ .

Papyrus squeals, shaking her by the shoulder. “Undyne, it’s you! It’s you!”

“No way, there’s no way,” Undyne murmurs. 

Alphys is shaking her hands desperately at the human, eyes pleading with them to not guess. Undyne’s mouth is dry, her soul pounding hard in her chest.

And then the human selects Undyne’s name. The chime dings, indicating it was a correct answer.

Alphys hides her red face in her hands, cringing away from the camera.

_ “See, Alphys? I told you it was obvious.” _

“Obvious?” Undyne sputters. It sure as hell wasn’t obvious to her!

Mettaton goes on and on about things Undyne had never known. Alphys name variables after her, writes stories of them sharing a domestic life together. Alphys looks like she wants to melt through the floor. 

When the quiz show cuts to commercial, Papyrus rounds on her. 

“The time is ripe for the picking! You must confess, Undyne!”

“Yeah, but—”

“No buts!” Papyrus looks at her, sternly. “You must seize this chance.”

“I don’t even—where do I even start?” She cards a hand through her hair, feeling overwhelmed. 

“You are asking the right skeleton.” Papyrus pulls out a dating manual from somewhere, and flips through its well-worn pages, before settling on an earmarked page. “Even though you are aware of her affections, how you present your own is still important! You must still woo her with your romantic wiles.”

“Okay, I’ll bite. How do I woo her?”

“First, you must arrange a meeting, reel her in. You must write a letter that explains how ardently you admire and care for her!”

“A letter?” Undyne is skeptical. “I’m not any kind of poet.”

“You cannot suplex your way into Alphys’ heart! A letter is properly romantic.”

“Okay, okay.” 

“Splendiferous!” 

She can see the wisdom in Papyrus’ advice. Asking Alphys out over text would be taking the easy way out, and in-person, too awkward. A letter would get around both, and is, admittedly, kind of romantic. 

Papyrus grabs her by the arm, tugging her over to the table. He zips upstairs and is back in a second, with a pen and paper in hand.

“With the Great Papyrus’ assistance, you will write the most heart-throbbing letter to ever exist! Anyone that so much as glances at it will be struck by its passion! Alphys will swoon into your arms after the first line!”

Papyrus’ enthusiasm helps chase away her remaining nerves. 

Thinking of Alphys’ smile, she picks up the pen and starts to write.


	7. I Ain't Afraid of No Ghosts [Swapbros Fluff]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Commissioned fic: After watching a horror movie, Papyrus is too spooked to sleep.
> 
> [Underswap Skelebros, Genfic]

After a long, tough week of rigorous guard training, even someone as magnificent as Sans was ready to unwind. As the older brother, he was able to put his foot down and insist Papyrus spend the night with him instead of with Muffet and her patrons. Papyrus gave in easily, and the next week he even brought up another movie himself, one Undyne had lent him. And thus, Friday movie nights have become something of a tradition in their small household.

They rotate who picks the film every week. Sans favors classic action movies, himself, and keeps a pen and notepad on him to record any particularly inspiring speeches from the cinema heroes. Papyrus usually selects something from the tentacle-free variation of animes that Undyne recommends. Sans doesn’t understand what they both see in the cartoons, but his love for his brother translates to tolerance for his odd tastes.

Tonight is Sans’ turn to pick, and today he’s chosen a film he found on one of their latest trips to the dump. The plastic case has taken quite the beating, the cover picture faded; he can only make out the word “Blockbuster”. Must be a human chain store.

Despite the state of the box, the DVD inside is barely smudged. After a quick polish with his scarf, Sans feeds the disc into the player, then goes over to turn off the lights. The light shining in through the front window is growing dim; the simulated day cycle is winding down. They won’t be halfway through the movie before darkness falls, giving them a near-perfect cinema experience.

As the movie starts up, playing the opening credits, Sans takes a seat next to Papyrus on the couch. His brother is already cozy on his side of the sofa, wrapped in a blanket, hugging an enormous bowl of caramel corn.

“So what’s this film about, bro?” Papyrus asks.

“Not sure,” Sans leans over and snags a few pieces of caramel corn for himself. “The disc was blank, and the writing on the case was near-illegible.”

“Guess that makes it a suspense film then.”

The film is simply titled  _The Mansion at the End of the Street_ , frustratingly vague. However, the tone soon becomes clear, as a group of adolescent humans break into an abandoned mansion. A figure behind curtains on the second floor watches them enter. The curtains blow to the side, and the shadow vanishes.

“Uh, Sans.” He glances away from the screen to look over at his brother. “Don’t you want to watch something else? This movie’s pretty bad.”

Papyrus sounds nonchalant, but Sans notes that he’s gripping the popcorn bowl rather tightly. A devilish grin flits across Sans’ face, before it’s replaced with his normal smile.

“No, that’s part of the fun! Alphys says she and Undyne watch bad movies all the time on purpose. They’re so bad that they’re good. Unless…” Sans’ voice drops low. “You’re _scared_?”

Papyrus flinches, caught, but schools his expression quickly. “O-Of course not. Just thought you’d get bored.”

“Well I, for one, am certainly unafraid of any poltergeists. And aren’t you friends with a ghost?”

One of the teenagers searches a cob-web covered room. The ghost appears behind her, and lets out an unearthly shriek that causes Papyrus to yelp, jolting back against the couch. The knee-jerk motion causes some of the caramel corn to slosh out of the bowl, onto both Sans and the couch.

“Happy doesn’t look anything like _that_.” Papyrus says, weakly.

Stars, he’s really spooked by this silly thing. Sans supposes it’s not too surprising—as a child, his little brother would often run to his room in the night and crawl into his bed. Sans would wipe away the tears around his eye sockets as he babbled on about black and white smiling shadows in the closet. His wildly imaginative mind stokes the fire of his fear.

The ghost has disappeared again. The girl’s friends discover her limp body, crying out in alarm. Papyrus grabs a fistful of caramel corn, and shovels it in his mouth.

Sans nudges him with his foot after his third handful.

“Stop chewing so loudly. I can barely hear the movie!”

Papyrus swallows down his current mouthful. He stares down at the bowl so he can avoid looking at the screen.

“Why do they always split up?” Sans wonders, watching Papyrus out of the corner of his eye. He’s trying to take the edge off of Papyrus’ nerves by making casual conversation. “It’s tactically foolish. They’re weaker divided when going up against an unknown force. You could say that, separated, they don’t stand a _ghost_ of a chance.”

That works—a small nyeh of laughter slips out of Papyrus.

The movie continues on in typical horror fashion. The humans are isolated and picked off one by one, all the while learning more and more about the woman’s story before she became a vengeful spirit. Sans, acclimated to months of sneak attacks from Alphys, barely flinches at each new jump scare. Papyrus, on the other hand, is the picturesque horror movie viewer, cringing away from the screen at every scream and sharp blare of music.

Papyrus lets out an audible sigh of relief as the movie ends. Sans is struck by the impish urge to startle him, but restrains himself.

“Well, that was certainly different!” Sans concludes, as he shuts off the television and DVD player, plunging them into near darkness.

Papyrus is quick to find his phone within the folds of his hoodie, and turns on its flashlight.

Taking pity on him, Sans tugs him up by his sleeve. “Come on, we’ll go upstairs together.”

Normally Papyrus would protest that he’s too old to be led around, but now he follows Sans obediently up the steps.

He jumps at a creaking noise, his bones shivering.

“D-Did you hear that?”

“Papy, that was your own foot. That step always creaks, remember?”

Papyrus looks down.

“Oh.”

It’s worse than Sans thought, if he’s still jumpy and paranoid after the film is over. Sans feels a flash of guilt—maybe he shouldn’t have made Papyrus watch such a thing.

Sans flicks the light on as they enter Papyrus’ room. His face scrunches up at the state of it. Their small dog is snoozing on the bare mattress. The floor is littered with stray articles of clothing, and far too many empty candy wrappers.

“Ugh, Papy.”

His brother shrugs, unrepentant.

The ball of sheets in wedged against the bed’s headboard is too sticky with spilt honey and syrups, so Sans fetches a clean set from the linen closet in the hallway.

Papyrus eyes him as he lifts the dog off the bed before putting on the clean sheets. “You, uh, don’t have to do that. I’ll be fine.”

“Oh hush.” Sans tucks the final sheet corner beneath the mattress. “Clearly you are shaken up, but don’t worry! The Magnificent Sans will protect you from any ghost, imagined or otherwise.”

Papyrus’ skull flushes with embarrassment. It’s clear he’s ashamed of his fear, but Sans intends to show him that it’s okay to be afraid.

Sans goes over to Papyrus’ closet. While most of his day clothes cover the floor, he still has a set of pajamas hung up. Sans tugs them off the hangar and throws them back over to Papyrus. He returns back to the closet, searching. In addition to his clothes, there are some old boxes packed away in here, mementoes of childhood.

“What’re you looking for?” Papyrus asks, once he’s changed into a loose tank top and shorts. “’Cause the only skeleton in my closet right now is you.”

“You’ll see.” Sans shoos him back over to the bed.

After a moment more, he finds what he was looking for. The first, a nightlight in the shape of a car, which he plugs in to a nearby wall socket. It casts a pleasant orange glow over the room.

He returns to Papyrus with his second prize, pulling up a chair at his bedside. Papyrus is curled under one layer of blankets, and the dog has deigned to snuggle up to his side.

“A storybook?” Papyrus asks, incredulous.

“You loved Fluffy Bunny when you were a kid.” Sans pouts.

“Yeah, exactly, as a _kid_.”

“Come on, Papy,” Sans cajoles him, opening up the book to the first page. “This always put you right to sleep before. So it’s either this, or you’ll stay up all night thinking about that ghost.”

“…Fine.” Papyrus mutters, giving in.

“Great!” Sans chirps. “Now let’s get started…”

He hasn’t read Papyrus this story in years, but as he reads aloud he slips seamlessly back into the old routine, giving the animals different voices as they appear and search for their missing fluffy friend. Papyrus is humoring him at first, but Sans is only halfway through the story when his eye lights become foggy with sleep. Two page turns later, Papyrus is snoring lightly along with the dog.

Sans smiles fondly. Still works like a charm. He concludes the story softly, before setting the book to the side. Papyrus looks content; he’s not being accosted by ghosts in his dreams.

Sans tugs the covers up some around his brother, before planting a quick skeleton kiss on his forehead.

“Goodnight, Papy.”


	8. Happy Meal [Fellcest]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Papyrus has gotten many weird cravings during his pregnancy, but he didn’t expect this.
> 
> [Fellcest, Skelepreg]

Papyrus grumbles to himself as he tries for what feels like the 52nd time today to find a comfortable position on the couch. The baby inside him has been frustratingly active today, their constant kicking leaving him achy and wiped out.

He massages the swell of his stomach in a vain attempt to sooth the child, and tries to distract himself with some television. MTT’s bloodbath shows used to excite him, but ever since he become pregnant, the copious gore has made him queasy. So instead, he watches the news. The anchor’s voice is plodding and monotonous as he goes over the weather forecast. It’s not enough to keep his mind busy.

“Sans!” Papyrus calls over his shoulder, towards the kitchen. “How much longer?”

“Comin’ right now.”

When Papyrus announced his pregnancy, Sans surprised both of them by stepping up, contributing more around the house as Papyrus’ pregnancy made it progressively more difficult for him to do even simple tasks. Just climbing the stairs leaves him breathless, so busywork like laundry and cleaning have fallen to Sans to take care of. Sans hasn’t groused about the additional chores, and instead of spending his nights at the bar, he spends them with his arms around both Papyrus and their growing child, speculating about everything from their magic level to their favorite animal.

The news report he’s half-watching cuts to a commercial. Papyrus perks up as the commercial shows MTT’s latest and greatest in his line of cuisine, the glamburger. Unbidden, Papyrus’ mouth starts to water. All of a sudden he really, _really_ wants a cheeseburger. A burger, fries, and a tall chocolate shake. He can practically taste it already, the warm, greasy goodness, offset with the sweet, cool drink.

Papyrus tries to shake the thought away. He glowers down at his stomach. The child is making him crave grease-sodden trash, which shouldn’t be so surprising, considering the baby’s father. But still, how many times has he lambasted his brother over his poor dietary habits? Sans would never let him live this down.

Sans joins him in the living room, handing him his bowl of “salad”—chopped spinach leaves, sliced pickles, peanut butter, and a carton’s worth of blueberries.

Papyrus had craved the rather unique combination for several days in a row, but now the hodgepodge of ingredients makes him feel nauseous. He stabs at the salad a few times with a fork, trying to work up the nerve to take a bite, but he just can’t.

“I don’t want this.”

He hands it back to Sans.

“…Okay.” Sans says, no doubt biting back a comment about how Papyrus might’ve told him that _before_ he made it. Sans sets the bowl back on the kitchen counter and returns to the couch. “So what do you want, then?”

“Nothing. I’m not hungry.”

Sans folds his arms. “Not ten minutes ago you were “starving” and “ten seconds from dusting”. Your words, Paps.”

“Well maybe I changed my mind, alright?” Papyrus snaps.

Feeling huffy, Papyrus turns away from Sans, facing the couch. Maybe he’ll get the hint and go away.

Sans sighs. “Papyrus, the grocery store is going to close in an hour. If you want something else you better tell me now. I don’t want to get arrested for breaking in to steal marshmallows or some shit.”

“I said I’m fine, okay? Go away!”

He grimaces as the baby kicks again. He had a light breakfast this morning, had nibbled at the leftovers for lunch. He’s keeping his ectobody sustained constantly, as well as providing a steady stream of magic to the growing babybones. It’s exhausting, even for someone with magic reserves as terrific as his own.

He needs that goddamn cheeseburger.

Sans has retreated to the kitchen again, scraping Papyrus’ uneaten meal into the trash before rinsing out the bowl.

He stops cleaning the bowl mid-scrub when he sees Papyrus stagger upright. Papyrus is gripping at the couch to steady himself when Sans is suddenly by his side, offering further support.

“I’m _fine_.” Papyrus bats his hands away. He hates how Sans watches him like he’s some fragile thing as he awkwardly waddles his way over to his shoes.

The boots he wore with his armor became too hard for him to fit into, so Sans ran out and got him a pair of plain black slippers a few months back. It’s not the most ideal footwear, but it’ll have to do.

“Can you stop actin’ like this and just tell me what you want?”

“I _want_ you to leave me alone. I have some…” Papyrus is struck by a wave of vertigo. He does his best to shrug it off. “…unfinished duties to attend to.”

He doesn’t have his wallet. That’ll be fine, right? He can just add it to Sans’ astronomical tab. His maternity shirt and soft sweatpants aren’t ideal for Snowdin’s weather, but he’s not walking far. He’ll be fine.

Sans is grabbing at his arm again. Papyrus wrests his hand away, but overcompensates, causing him to lose his balance. Sans catches him with a muffled curse.

“You’re overexerting yourself,” Sans chastises him, as he blinks the spots from his eyes. “You need to sit down, and you need to eat.”

They agreed early on to not use Sans’ shortcuts with the baby, so Sans carefully guides Papyrus back to the couch. Papyrus grabs one of the pillows, hugging it tight to his chest and half-buries his face in it, as if to hide from Sans. This whole situation is stupid and embarrassing.

“There. Are you feeling a little better now?” Sans peers into his eyes as Papyrus mumbles an affirmative. “Are you ready to tell me what you want?”

When Papyrus stays quiet, Sans drags a hand down his face in frustration.

“Papyrus. If you don’t tell me what you want, then I’ll make you eat regardless. And it won’t be anything good. I’m just gonna grab the greasiest, most disgusting thing from Grillby’s and cram it down your throat.”

Papyrus reddens, hiding his face in the pillow.

“…Wait.” There’s dawning realization in his tone. “You want a burg from Grillby’s? _That’s_ what this is about?”

Papyrus nods into the pillow. Braces for the teasing and laughter.

“Well thank fuck that’s all it is!”

Papyrus looks up, surprised. Sans scratches the back of his head.

“I thought you were gonna ask for something ridiculous, like fresh squid caviar.”

“Squids don’t—” Papyrus clamps a hand to his mouth at the thought of fish. Ew.

“Okay, I’ll head over to Grillby’s. Cheeseburger, fries. Got it.”

“…And a shake,” Papyrus mumbles.

“And a what?”

“And a shake!!”

“Okay! Alright! I didn’t hear you.” Sans zips up his hoody. “Be back in five. Just stay there, okay?”

He waits until Papyrus nods to teleport out. Papyrus fiddles with the tassels on the pillow, feeling a bit foolish at making such a fuss over something so small.

In a matter of minutes Sans pops into the living room again, a greasy paper bag in one hand, and a large cup in the other.

“Dinner is served,” Sans declares, setting the meal on a TV tray before nudging the tray closer to Papyrus.

Papyrus dumps out the contents of the bag eagerly. Two steaming hot cheeseburgers wrapped in foil, a mountain of fries, and several ketchup packets.

Papyrus picks up one of the packets.

“You remembered.” Papyrus hasn’t eaten fast food like this for years, but when he did, he used to slather everything in ketchup, turning his nose up at Sans’ mustard.

“Uh, yeah. And I even got Grillbz to throw in some extra fries for ya, so—shit, Paps? What’s wrong?”

Tears of gratitude are dripping down Papyrus’ face.

“I’m just so h-huh-happy!” The swell of thankfulness is nearly overwhelming.

He only cries harder when Sans doesn’t tease him one bit, instead wiping his eye sockets dry with the furred ends of his sleeves.

“You big dork,” Sans says, fondly.


	9. Titillating [Papster]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To celebrate a milestone in their relationship, Papyrus tries out something new in the bedroom. Gaster is very appreciative. 
> 
> [Papster, Explicit content]

Just as he’s packing up at the end of the work day, there’s a faint buzz from his pocket. Gaster fishes out his phone. Papyrus has sent him a message, instructing him to head up to their bedroom as soon as he gets home.

Swallowing, Gaster stuffs the last of his papers haphazardly in his briefcase and hurries out of his office. He nods and waves farewell to any coworkers that cross his path, not lingering long enough to be pulled into a conversation.

As he sits and waits on the ferry ride home, his phone buzzes again. Papyrus has sent….pictures. They show teasingly little. Papyrus smiling coyly at the camera, a glimpse of bare femur, a flash of panties. Promises of what is to come.

After what seems like forever, the ferry docks in New Home. Gaster makes the usual ten minute walk to their home in six. Slightly winded, he lets himself into the house. He shrugs off his jacket, and deposits his briefcase right by the front door. He can worry about putting everything away properly later. He climbs the stairs two at a time, until he’s in front of the door to their bedroom. His hand trembles a little as he turns the doorknob.

“Papyrus?”

“Hello, Gaster,” He purrs.

Papyrus has dressed up for him, in a lingerie set the same shade of violet as Gaster’s magic. His gaze is drawn down. Papyrus has filled out the outfit with a lovely pair of breasts. They strain against the sheer fabric, and oh god, he can even see the pert buds of his nipples poking through the garment.

“Do…do you like them?” Papyrus asks, uncertain, as Gaster remains frozen in place.

Gaster forces himself to move, joining Papyrus on the bed. Stars, they’re huge.

“Russ, I…can I?”

Gaster reaches a hand out towards them, but stops short. Papyrus huffs a laugh. He grabs Gaster’s hand and guides it to his chest. The ectoflesh is warm, smooth. Growing bold, Gaster slips his second hand beneath Papyrus’ top, so he can touch him directly. He pinches Papyrus’ nipple, and his whole face flushes a vibrant orange.

Gaster lowers him down onto the mattress. He slowly unclasps Papyrus’ top, setting it to the side. Just the sight of Papyrus like this has made his pants rather snug.

“They’re beautiful.” Gaster confirms. His hands brush against Papyrus’ ribs and chest, making him shudder. “You’re beautiful.”

“Nyeh, I had hoped they would be…titillating.” Papyrus’ laugh at his own pun is swallowed by a moan as Gaster takes a nipple in his mouth, swirling his tongue around it. The touch of his tongue has Papyrus squirming beneath him.

“What brought this on?” Gaster asks, breathless. He’s not complaining, not in the slightest. But the new, carefully-selected lingerie. The breasts Gaster hadn’t had the pleasure of seeing before. Papyrus normally has an agenda in mind when he goes to extra lengths like this.

“It’s been three months since we moved in together.” Has it really been three months? It somehow feels both like Papyrus just moved in last week, and that he’s been here forever.

Papyrus’ fingers curl in the sheets. “And, it’s been a while since we’ve…”

Gaster presses a kiss to his cheekbone, repentant.

“I’m sorry, Russ. I’ll take off tomorrow; we can spend the day doing whatever you want.”

“You don’t have to do that. I know you’re busy— _oh_.” Gaster bites at one breast, while his hand fondles the other.

“No, I mean it.”

It has been—difficult is not the right word— _different_ , living with someone else. So often he gets wrapped up in equations and theorems, and spend days on end at the lab. He’s so used to doing this without consequence, but it’s different to have someone waiting for him to come home, who shows up at the lab with a home-cooked meal and a worried smile if more than two days have passed. Papyrus has been endlessly patient with him.

“We’ll celebrate properly. I’m all yours tomorrow. And tonight.”

Papyrus nyehs happily, and they share another, gentle kiss. The tender kiss soon turns hungry, Papyrus pulling him closer so their chests press together, and Gaster’s clothed erection presses against his damp panties.

Gaster pulls back, tousled. “Russ, I want to try something. If you’re okay with it.”

Papyrus watches him questioningly as he undresses. Excitement makes his hands jittery; he fumbles with the zipper of his pants for a nearly-embarrassing amount of time before he gets them off.

He waits for Papyrus’ nod, and then positions himself so his erection is nestled between Papyrus’ breasts. Papyrus grabs the swells of magic and pushes them closer. He thumbs his nipples, mouth parting in a breathless moan. His body undulates beneath Gaster.

“Fuck, Russ.” There’s something so insanely hot about watching Papyrus pleasure himself in front of him.

Gaster sinks further into the slick heat. He pushes forward, sliding up. He can feel Papyrus’ hot, short breaths against the head of his cock.

He starts thrusting, and Papyrus’ breasts jiggle with his movement. This only stirs Gaster up more; he thrusts faster, harder between those swells.

“Cum on my face,” Papyrus gasps out. “P-Please, I want it—”

Papyrus’ plea is enough to undo him. With a groan he orgasms, his seed spurting onto Papyrus’ face, on the top curves of his breasts.

“Wowie.” Papyrus swipes some of the sticky fluid off his chin, rubbing it between his fingers. “That was a lot.”

“I’ll shoot the next load into your dripping pussy.” Gaster growls. Papyrus shudders with want at the intent in his words.

Gaster moves down to an area so far left unattended. Papyrus’ legs have spread open for him, displaying the glow of magic beneath his panties.

“You’re so wet,” Gaster marvels. The fabric is all but glued to him. Gaster hooks his finger around the hem of the panties. He peels them off so there’s nothing separating him from the adorable orange mound.

Gaster licks a long, slow stripe up the lips of his pussy. Papyrus’ femurs quiver at the stimulation. His legs wind around Gaster’s shoulders, pressing him closer.

As his tongue delves into the succulent folds of his lover’s entrance, his magic hums to life. Phantom hands manifest, and pet and stroke Papyrus’ breasts. The magic acts as an extension of his body—he can feel the sensation of the hands sliding against the soft flesh as if he were caressing it himself.

Papyrus is more than agreeable to the addition, bucking upwards. He bites on the knuckle of one hand, trying to stifle his moans. One of the phantom hands drifts up, tugging the fingers away so Gaster can hear every sound.

Another phantom hand squeezes and strokes Gaster’s cock, helping him catch back up to Papyrus. Once hard enough, he gives Papyrus’ clit one last suck before he sits up, and guides his cock to Papyrus’ entrance. Papyrus is ultra-slick from all the attention; Gaster pushes in and buries himself to the hilt in one quick, hard movement.

“You alright?” He gasps. He hadn’t meant to slide in so fast.

“Yes, just—move!” Papyrus squirms, impatient.

Gaster obliges. He thrusts deep, quick, until each movement has Papyrus’ boobs bouncing.

Papyrus is close. Gaster simultaneously impales him and pulls on his nipples. Papyrus’ voice nearly cracks as he cries out at the stimulation, tightening around Gaster as he climaxes.

Gaster rolls his hips at a frantic pace.

“Just—Just a little more. Russ,  _Russ_ —”

Gaster is brought to a second shuddering orgasm, buried deep inside Papyrus.

After a moment, he pulls out. Their mixed cum spills over, dripping slowly from Papyrus’ entrance.

Gaster’s hand magic dissipates. Breathless, he flops down on the bed beside Papyrus.

Papyrus cuddles up to him, peppering kisses across his jaw. Gaster lazily strokes at the curve of his breast. He loves the weight and feel of them in his hand; he’s already hopelessly addicted.

He also makes a mental note to press his secretary for details on standard anniversaries couples celebrate, so he can be much more on top of the situation next time. He cares for Papyrus, more than words can express. He won’t let himself be so distracted by work that he forgets that.

“I’ll prepare us a bath.” Gaster says, eventually. Now that the initial post-coital glow is beginning to ebb, he feels how sweaty and sticky they both are. He knows they still have some lavender soap that’d work well for a bubble bath.

He doesn’t budge an inch.

He’s content, just being here with Papyrus. His usually frayed, restless mind is distinctly mellowed.

“Um, Gaster?” Papyrus pipes up, after another minute passes.

“Mm?”

“The bath?”

“Mm.”

“Oh no, don’t tell me you’re becoming a lazy bones.” Papyrus despairs, throwing his head against the pillow theatrically.“What a cruel irony, for one as energetic and active as myself to be surrounded by layabouts!”

“The first Newtonian law states that an object at rest remains at rest unless acted upon by an unbalanced force.” Gaster mumbles.

“Not this again.” Papyrus huffs. “I don’t give a fig about Newtons!”

Through his half-lidded gaze he watches Papyrus shift on the bed to face him.

“But Gaster…” Papyrus starts, sly. His eyes fly open as Papyrus presses his breasts together. They’re still coated in his drying cum. “Look at the mess you made on them. Shouldn’t you help clean them off?”

Gaster suddenly has a very vivid image of them together in the tub, of him lathering up soap on Papyrus’ chest, massaging and kneading his breasts.

He slips out of bed.

“Give me a few minutes to get the water hot and running.” He stretches, glancing back towards Papyrus. There’s a curl of satisfaction within him at the sight of Papyrus in his bed, looking thoroughly ravished. “I’ll call you in a moment.” 


	10. Spiceyhoney Heat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edge leaves Stretch and their planned vacation when duty calls him back to work. While he is away, Stretch falls into his first heat.
> 
> [Underswap Papyrus/Underfell Papyrus, Explicit content]

“You’re leaving already?” Stretch asks, trying and probably failing to mask the disappointment he feels. He doesn’t get to see his boyfriend as often as he’d like; inter-dimensional travel doesn’t run cheap. They’d carefully arranged time to spend the week together, only for Edge to start packing a travel bag as soon as Stretch arrived.

“I realize this is not ideal,” Edge has set three pairs of neatly-folded outfits in the bag, along with weapons and toiletries. He zips up the case. “But I cannot ignore a summons from Undyne, regardless of circumstances.”

Stretch follows him down the stairs.

“What’s so dire that she’s calling you back from vacation, anyhow?”

Edge scowls. “There’s an issue with the latest batch of recruits. The pissants haven’t learned to respect the authority of the crown.”

“Do you want me to go with you?”

Edge scoffs. “It’s nothing for you to be concerned over. It’ll just take a few days to straighten them out, and then we’ll return.”

The TV set is on. Red had been watching, but evidently had fallen asleep. Jaw slack, he drools on the arm of the couch. His arm is slung protectively over a bag of chips.

The sight makes Stretch smile. Despite their surface differences (Red being all-around pointier), Red reminds him so much of his little brother. He’s tugged an afghan over Blue many evenings on a very similar couch, after a day of grueling training with Alphys.

“Red!” Edge barks, and Red shoots up.

“Whassa?”

“Where is your bag? I gave you forty-five minutes, and you have packed nothing!!” Edge stamps his foot. Stretch hides a grin at the display.

“Uh…” Red rubs sleep from his eye socket. “Figured I’d just take a shortcut home if I needed to.”

“We have talked about this. This trick of yours is for emergencies, not a stopgap measure for your slovenly ways!”

“…huh?”

“Ugh!” Edge rolls his eye lights. “Once more it falls upon me to take care of things!”

Edge marches back upstairs, and enters Red’s room.

Red sits up on the couch. Some chips still cling to his jacket, but he’s unbothered. He shakes the chip bag out to Stretch. “Want some?”

Stretch pulls out a lollypop from the stash in the right pocket of his cargo shorts and waves it. “I’ll pass.”

“Suit yerself.” Red grabs the last fistful of chips and crunches them, noisily. Mouth full of half-chewed food, he asks, “You gonna be ok here by your lonesome?”

Stretch shrugs. “I’m sure I’ll find something to do.”

“Try to stay in the house as much as possible, ok? I’m sure my bro has told ya to be careful a thousand times already, but still.”

Stretch nods. When they first began dating, Edge had impressed upon him the importance of sticking close to him in this unfriendly world. Edge has clout, but even that only goes so far.

Red sniffs the air. “Did you put on something? You smell good today.”

“Blue washed my hoodie before I came over here.”

“Ah, that explains it.” Red chuckles.

“You’ve still got some crumbs on you.” Stretch fusses over him, dusting off the chips still snagged on Red’s jacket.

Red looks up at him, nonplussed. “Uh, thanks?”

Edge tromps back down the stairs, and wedges himself between them. He shoves a laden backpack into Red’s arms.

“Don’t lose it by the time we get there.”

“You got it, boss.”

Red shrugs the backpack on and steps away to let the couple say their goodbyes.

“By my estimate we shall be gone no greater than three days!” Edge declares.

They won’t have as much time together as they’d hoped, but still, it’s something.

“Be safe.”

Edge huffs. “No one would dare to trifle with the great and terrible—”

After plucking the lollypop from his mouth, Stretch clinks their teeth together, surprising Edge with a kiss. When he pulls back Edge is a sputtering, blushing mess. Despite his tough guy persona, he’s delightfully inexperienced when it comes to romantic gestures. A simple peck is enough to fluster him.

“We’re going now!”

“Ok.”

Stretch watches the brothers make their way through town towards Waterfall, until they disappear from his line of sight.

He heads back inside. Despite the cold temperature outside, he’s surprisingly warm. He turns down the thermostat, before returning to the center of the living room.

So. Now what?

The television’s still on, playing an MTT special at low volume. While his Undyne may have gotten him into robotics, he doesn’t get any joy out of watching the boxy robot swing around a chainsaw, hacking apart “humans” with an excessive amount of fake blood packed into them.

After shutting off the television, Stretch wanders into Edge’s room. He’s been in the room several times, but is more acquainted with the bed than anything else. He starts snooping around, with only a hint of guilt—he still needs to figure out a Gyftmas present for the guy. It’s fine.

If you’d told him a few months ago that he’d be dating an edgy parallel version of himself, he’d laugh himself all the way home. But beneath all the bristly intimidation, there is truly a kind soul. Edge does what he has to do in this dog eat dog world, but he hasn’t let it warp him into a cruel shell. Instead, he only hides his true nature behind a façade. Aside from Red, Stretch is the only one privy to his vulnerability. It makes him feel special, privileged.

Stretch scours Edge’s room for further hints of his boyfriend’s private personality. Edge’s furniture is all black, modern. He’s going for a minimal, sleek style. A tall bookcase is filled with books on fighting techniques and monster history, but Stretch spies a collection of comic books, tucked in the corner of the bottom shelf.

Stretch checks the closet for any metaphorical skeletons. Hidden behind a row of boots is a small box. Curious, he picks it up. Inside is a raggedy stuffed rabbit. One of its button eyes is missing. Collected also are several photographs of him and Red (he aww’s at the adorable babybones photos), as well as odds and ends that must be mementos to Edge but mean nothing to Stretch.

He puts the box back where he found it. Comics and rabbits, huh? He can work with that. He knows a few artists in New Home who are working on their own comics, who might be willing to draw a few comic panels for him for a special occasion. And Stretch could certainly surprise Edge on his birthday with a bunny costume…

Stretch flops onto Edge’s bed. It smells like him; like leather armor and spiced bone cologne. He pulls out his phone, and goes to search for sexy bunny outfits, only to get a no signal page.

“Ugh.” That’s right. His phone has no internet connection here, being from a different dimension and all. Darned technology.

Dismayed, and already bored, Stretch brings up a crossword app. It’s going to be a long three days.

~*~

By the middle of day two Stretch is going stir-crazy. He feels fidgety, unable to sit still and focus on anything. To make matters worse, he’s polished off all the candy he brought along with him. Edge has stocked the fridge and pantry with healthy options; if Red has a hidden stash of junk food, Stretch hasn’t found it.

He decides there’s no harm in going out. Just for a bit. He’ll just head over to Muffet’s—Grillby’s, he corrects himself—for a quick sugar burst. He’ll only be out an hour, tops.

Stretch wore socks and sandals to this universe, and is too lazy to wear Edge’s heeled boots, so his socks soon become sodden with snow as he shuffles his way to the local bar. This version of Snowdin is in such stark parallel to the one he grew up in. The streets are eerily empty; children don’t play here. Everybody keeps to themselves. He’s never seen a small town so private.

Stretch lets himself into the bar. A small jingling bell announces his presence. It’s midafternoon, but it seems regulars have already filed in. There’s a venus flytrap nursing a beer in one of the booths, and a red bird slumped on a barstool, chatting to the fiery bartender. They all watch him with a cold curiosity as he walks through the bar. He barely resists the urge to tug his hood over his head.

Stretch hops up on a barstool.

“Heya.”

The bartender crackles.

Stretch drums his fingers on the bar table. “So, uh. You got anything sweet in this place?”

The bird giggles, clearly already drunk. “Besides you, sweet cheeks?”

There’s a loud popping noise.

“Uh, is that a yes…?”

“Grillby says he has honey mead.”

Stretch nods, looking back and forth between them, unsure if he’s supposed to reply to her or Grillby. “That sounds good.”

Grillby pours him a glass. He sips at it. A little strong, but the sweet honey aftertaste is a balm.

Minutes pass. The bird tries to hit on him at first, but once it becomes clear that he’s not interested she decides to stop wasting her breath, and orders herself a gin and tonic.

The bar is sweltering. His bones crawl with heat that his drink does nothing to dampen. Stretch wants to tug off his hoodie, but he isn’t wearing anything under it. This isn’t that kind of bar.

“Is it hot in here or is it just me?” Stretch asks, wiping sweat from his skull. He gestures to Grillby. “Or is it you?”

Grillby’s flames flare, and he walks to the other end of the bar. The bird points at Stretch. “Grillby says you’re as bad as Sans.”

“Nyeh heh.”

He polishes off his mead, and is about to ask for another glass when the door to the bar bangs open. Stretch recognizes the guard dog couple, Dogamy and Dogaressa. Greater Dog follows in after them, ducking under the entryway to avoid hitting his head. Doggo is absent from the pack, presumably still on shift while the rest of the group is on break.

The pack zero in on Stretch, moving over and sniffing at him with their wet noses. Stretch backs up, his spine against the bar counter.

“Can I help you guys?”

“Bones smell…”

“…sweet!”

“Just a taste…”

“..a nibble!”

“Good dogs deserve treats.”

“Treats!” They all cry.

The three dogs pant loudly, their tongues lolling. Saliva drips from their pointed fangs.

“Uh….” He levels a look of desperation to Grillby. “I think I might have to pass on that. But thanks for the tempting offer, there.”

He backs away as they lean closer, and knocks his glass from the counter, and it shatters on the floor. There’s a pulse of warmth at Stretch’s back. He turns to see Grillby looking very….heated.

The dogs cower away from the display, tucking their tails between their legs.

The bird translates the hissing pops. “Grillby says you should probably get out of here.”

“Right, yeah.” Stretch digs around his pockets. Nothing but lint. “Put it on Sans’ tab, I guess?”

Stretch ducks out of the bar. What the heck is wrong with him? He feels heated, flushed. He doesn’t want to be vulnerable, not out here, so he hurries back to the house.

Once inside, he pours himself a tall glass of tap water. It quenches nothing. Frustrated, he returns to Edge’s room, and flops on the bed. Is he getting sick, too? That’d be the cherry on the mud pie. He might as well just leave a note for Edge and Red and sulk back in his own universe. At least there he’ll have access to shitty memes.

Stretch flips onto his stomach, smushing his face in Edge’s pillow. The smell is just as strong as it was days ago. Stretch groans, nuzzling against the fabric. He wishes Edge was here.

~*~

He’s woken by a dream of burning alive. His eyes crack open. His sweatshirt is soaked, and his pelvis feels…moist. But what’s most alarming of all is how little energy he has. It’s a herculean effort just to twitch his phalanges.

Fuck, he must have seriously caught one hell of a bug. His health has always been brittle; a classroom cold used to leave him waylaid for weeks. But he doesn’t have the energy to drag himself to the basement, to the machine that will transport him home. He has to cool down—he has to hold out until Edge and Red return home.

Stretch doesn’t have the coordination to pull off his hoodie right now, but at the very least he can get rid of his shorts. He lifts his hips, leg bones rattling with the effort. He hooks his thumbs in the waistband of his shorts, and slowly drags them down.

There’s a strong bolt of pleasure as the zipper grazes against the bottom of his pelvis. Confused, he looks down.

There’s something orange nestled between his tailbone and pubic arch. He kicks off his cargo shorts entirely, to get a better look. His soul sits in his pelvis, swollen and dripping.

“That doesn’t go there.” He croaks, feebly, to no one. Is he hallucinating? It seems like he might be hallucinating.

Stretch reaches out, with the thought of grabbing it and guiding it back up to his ribcage where it’s supposed to be. He barely nudges it and is hit with a starburst of ecstasy. Fluid squirts out at the tip of his soul, onto the sheets. Edge will be so mad at him for making such a mess. Stretch turns his head so he can get a better whiff of his boyfriend’s scent from the pillow.

He isn’t sure how long he lays there, in and out of consciousness as the heat wracks his body. But eventually he cools enough that he can move again.

Stretch groans, hugging Edge’s pillow close. He’s so damned horny. All his gross fantasies are paraded before him in his mind. He’s feverish with the need to be claimed. He needs to taste Edge’s precum on his tongue, needs his aching soul stuffed full.

Stretch rolls over, straddling the pillow between his legs. He rubs against the pillow, moaning at the friction. The sheets are stained with his essence, but still retain the smell of spiced cinnamon cologne and leather.  

“Edge, Edge…” Stretch ruts against the pillow. He rucks up his jacket, and keeps the fabric held up by his teeth so his hands can strum along his ribs.

It becomes difficult to even conjure a fantasy; his body burns, and he’s so  _close_ —

Stretch lets out a rather unmanly yelp as he’s grabbed from behind.

“Gotcha,” Edge growls, the low timbre of his voice going straight to Stretch’s groin. Edge’s fingers graze Stretch’s hip, before he plunges two phalanges into Stretch’s soul. Stretch mewls at the bizarre but delightful sensation of Edge’s fingers curling and uncurling inside him, before Edge pulls his fingers out again. Edge licks up the orange glaze Stretch’s soul left behind. Stretch whimpers.

“Please, I need…”

“Quiet,” Edge laves several kisses on the side of Stretch’s neck. “I see you kept yourself entertained while I was gone. You should’ve told me your heat was coming up.”

“My…ahnn..my what?” It’s hard to speak as Edge’s fingers swirl tantalizingly against the slick surface of his soul. Stretch raises his hips, trying to get Edge’s fingers to dip back into his soul, but Edge moves with him.

Edge pauses. “You’re an adult that doesn’t know what a heat is?”

“I’ve—I’ve never felt like this before.”

Edge snorts. “Well I suppose it’s up to me then, to educate you. But before that—” Stretch hears the clang of a belt buckle, and the zip of a zipper and then Edge is gently pushing him forward, onto his hands and knees overtop the pillow. Stretch feels something nudge up against the tip of his soul. “—I think you could use a little release.”

Stretch gasps as Edge sheathes his erection inside his soul. It feels strange and satisfying. Stretch tries to push against Edge, take more of him in, but Edge keeps a firm grip on his hips and sets the pace himself, entering with agonizing slowness.

Stretch whines as Edge pulls out again, straining to look over his shoulder indignantly.

“What’re you—” His complaint is swallowed by a gasp and Edge pushes in again, setting a brutal rhythm. “Ohh fuck.”

“Are you good?” Edge asks.

“Don’t stop!”

Edge growls approvingly, keeping the pace brisk. Normally Edge’s energy in the bedroom eclipses his own, but his heat has given him stamina. Each rough plunge of his cock comes with a powerful slam of possessiveness. He’s being marked, claimed.

Edge twitches inside him, and then his cum floods Stretch’s soul. His soul feels swollen, close to bursting. Edge pulls out of him with a slick  _pop_. Edge turns him over, so he’s laying on his back. He smirks down at Stretch’s flushed face, before nudging apart his legs to get access to Stretch’s soul.

Edge’s breath is hot against the surface of his soul. Holding a strong gaze with Stretch, he orders: “Come.”

Edge presses down on his soul. That and the command are enough: his hips jerk and slick ectoplasm gushes out of his soul. Stretch shivers as Edge licks off the mess that got onto his face.

Stretch grabs him by the shirt, and pulls him in for a kiss. The burn in Stretch’s soul has cooled to a muted warmth.

“Thanks,” Stretch says as they pull apart. “Think I needed that.”

Edge lays down on the bed beside him.

“It is my duty as your boyfriend to take care of you in your heats.”

Stretch stills. “Does this mean I’m pregnant?”

He doesn’t appreciate Edge’s guffaws.

“I’m serious!”

“No, you moron. You’re not pregnant. Two monsters need to share souls for that.” Edge runs a hand over Stretch’s hip. “You’d think Blue would’ve taught you this.”

“What? Why? He’s my younger brother.”

“Your…younger? My—Red is older.” Edge’s brow bones crease. “So is this why you have been so…chummy, with Red?”

Stretch slaps a hand to his face. “Oh my god, dude, did you think I was hitting on him? He reminds me of my little brother!”

“ _Oh_.” Edge’s face colors. “Well then.”

Stretch shoves him playfully. “Look who’s the moron now. Come here.”

Stretch kisses Edge deeply, affirming to his boyfriend that he is here and very much his. Stretch’s soul throbs; he rubs against Edge to ease some of the pressure.

“Looks like someone’s ready to go again.” Edge declares, before he pounces.

Stretch later learns that Red spent that night at the Snowdin Inn. He couldn’t sleep through the noise.


	11. Elevator Escapades [Classic Fontcest, CEO AU]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part of a series of AU prompt requests I did over on Tumblr. 
> 
> [Office AU/Forbidden Love/Classic Fontcest/Dom Pap]

The second the elevator doors shut behind them, Papyrus is upon him, pressing him against the wall and grinding their pelvises together.

“Papyrus—” His protest is silenced as the skeleton in question captures his mouth in a searing kiss. Sans wants to be the responsible one. Papyrus is his CEO; the consequences if they get caught together would be dire. Instead, he leans into the kiss.

“Two weeks,” Papyrus says, breathless when they break apart. “I can’t be apart from you for so long, Sans.”

“I know.” Papyrus’ hot breath ghosts over his neck before his teeth nip at the sensitive vertebrae. “I—ah, _fuck_ , Pap.”

The new project in development has consumed their schedules. They’ve had no free time to spend together without others present. Being so close but unable to touch has driven them both a bit mad. This is the only scrap of privacy they’ve had in two weeks, and Papyrus is making the most of it.

Papyrus’ hand slips beneath Sans’ dress pants to stroke his pelvis directly.

Sans grabs Papyrus’ wrist, panicked. “W-Wait!” He watches the floor numbers on the dial above the elevator slowly march upwards. Twenty floors yet to the top, and it is a slow, old elevator, but still they have minutes, if that. And if the elevator stops along the way up…

“Sans, trust me.” Papyrus’ sincere gaze bores into him. “It’ll be okay. Just let yourself enjoy this.”

Sans swallows, nods. His grip on Papyrus’ arm serves now to secure himself instead of stopping Papyrus, as he rubs at Sans’ pelvic girdle. His pent-up lust and the danger of the situation cause his ectoflesh to form beneath Papyrus’ fingers.

“What’s this?” Papyrus asks, playfully circling Sans’ folds with the tips of his phalanges.

“Damnit, c’mon.” Sans nearly whines.

The elevator jolts, the abrupt movement forcing Papyrus’ finger inside him. It’s a quick burst of pleasure, before Papyrus quickly removes his finger again, glancing guiltily at the elevator doors. They haven’t opened; the elevator stalled between floors. It judders a few times before starting its climb again.

Just five floors now.

“Looks like we’re out of time.” Papyrus says, looking so put out Sans just wants to grab him by the tie, drag him to the floor and screw him senseless.

Papyrus brings his slickened fingers to his mouth. Sans throbs with need as Papyrus cleans his fingers with a few swipes of his tongue, before drying them with his handkerchief.

With a cheery _ding_ , the elevator doors open. Sans follows Papyrus into the hallway with faltering steps.

Papyrus gives him a once-over. “Nyeh heh heh.” His laugh is self-satisfied. “Go get cleaned up. I’ll get the meeting started.”

Sans enters the bathroom, where he’s mercifully alone. He pats a wet paper towel on his face to cool his bright blush. He fixes his askew tie and smooths his suit. His whole body is buzzing with arousal.

Taking slow, deep breaths, he wills himself to calm down. He has a two-hour meeting ahead of him. Two hours watching Papyrus strut around the room, explaining his grand plans with those shining eyes. Christ. His eyes squeeze shut. Papyrus is going to be the death of him.


	12. Till Death Do Us Part [Fellcest]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part of a series of AU prompt requests I did over on Tumblr.
> 
> [Vampire AU/Arranged Marriage/Victorian AU/Fellcest]

All Sans knew about Papyrus going into this marriage was that he had an unholy amount of gold in his coffers, and his father liked him, which was never a good sign. He didn’t even get to meet him until the day of the wedding.

Papyrus hadn’t wanted them married in a church for whatever reason, so the ceremony and reception were instead both held in his castle. Only when Gaster walked him down the aisle to his husband-to-be did Sans finally get a look at his future spouse. He was elegantly tall, with distinctly sharp features. Undeniably handsome, but with an air of intimidation about him. Sans couldn’t look away from his eyes: they were a deep, unnerving red that he’d never seen on a skeleton before.

After their vows of devotion were sworn, Papyrus took Sans’ hand in his own and slid on the ring, a priceless piece of jewelry with his family crest emblazoned on it. Papyrus’ hands were as cold as ice.

The reception passed by in a blur of unfamiliar faces, and then his new husband was escorting him to his— _their_ —bedroom. Like everything in the castle, the room was filled with luxurious items, from the hand-stitched tapestries on the wall to the furs on the bed.

Sans perched on the edge of the enormous bed, and watched Papyrus unfasten his cloak and fold it neatly on a nearby chair. He felt exhausted, and trepidatious. All he wanted to do was fall into the excessive mountain of pillows and go to sleep. But from the hungry look in Papyrus’ eyes, that didn’t seem to be a viable option.

In addition to the white wedding dress, Papyrus had sent him a choker to wear around his neck. The band was a thick red velvet, and fixed to the center was a ruby, encircled by glimmering diamonds. Papyrus crossed over to him now and unfastened the choker, dropping it on the bed.

“S-So, what do we—?”

“Hush, pet.” Papyrus pushed him down on the bed and lent over him, arms on either side of his head.

“I’m not your pet!” Sans spat. He shoved at Papyrus’ chest, but the skeleton was like a wall, unyielding.

Papyrus’ mouth parted in a devilish grin. To Sans’ horror, before his very eyes Papyrus’ canines extended into sharp fangs.

“I want you to know now, Sans, the vow you made this morning was inaccurate. “’Till death do us part”.” Papyrus’ laugh was a low rumble. “In your future, there is no such thing as death. You will be mine for eternity.”

His fangs sank into Sans’ neck. Sans jolted, but any energy he had to struggle was swiftly drained away. His body burned, his magic being ripped from his very core. Black spots danced before his vision, and he spiraled down into unconsciousness.


	13. The Note [Papster]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part of a series of AU prompt requests I did over on Tumblr.
> 
> [University AU/Didn’t know they were dating/Papster]

“ _There_ you are!”

Gaster tries to block out Papyrus’ voice and keep concentrating on the textbook before him, but then a plastic lunchbox with peeling cartoon stickers is pointedly shoved on top of his book.

Sighing, Gaster looks up to meet Papyrus’ expectant gaze.

“While I appreciate the gesture, Papyrus, it is unnecessary.”

“Oh no you don’t!” Papyrus huffs, planting his hands on his hips. “I know for a  _fact_ that you haven’t eaten at all today. You can’t solve the world’s problems on an empty stomach!”

Gaster’s study group snicker quietly at the two of them. He glares at them all, but it just makes them laugh more.

“Fine.” Better to waste ten minutes eating then spend hours trying to repel Papyrus. He reaches for the lunch box.

“Nyeh heh heh! Once again, the Great Papyrus gets his way!”

Gaster lifts the latch on the lunchbox. A milk carton, a sandwich cut into triangles, and an apple. Taped to the plastic wrap on the sandwich is a yellow sticky note. On it is a surprisingly realistic sketch of Papyrus, giving him a thumbs up with a speech bubble saying “You can do it!”. Well, it’s realistic aside from the long flowing locks of hair on his skull, and two pairs of sunglasses perched on his shoulders.

“Thank you, Papyrus.” Gaster sets the drawing to the side. “It’s very…unique.”

Papyrus preens as Gaster unwraps the sandwich and takes a bite. Eating seems to remind his body how hungry it actually is, and he dives into the meal with gusto. Papyrus’ affection has bled into the food; the meal leaves him feeling full and warm. The near-constant headache he’s had since his theoretical physics exam was announced even ebbs slightly.

Papyrus beams at him. “You’re looking much better already!” He collects the trash and empty lunchbox. “I’ll check up on you later. I’m sure Sans is somewhere slacking off instead of studying, as usual.”

Gaster watches him bound away across the campus. What did he do to deserve a friend like Papyrus? He always manages to push past Gaster’s hardheadedness and give him what he knows he needs. Once the exam is over, he’ll have to make it up to him. Maybe he’ll take Papyrus to that new Italian restaurant he keeps talking about…

“Cute boyfriend.” Comments a classmate.

“He’s not my boyfriend.” Gaster snaps, a rare blush rising in his cheeks. “We are merely…acquaintances.”

“With benefits?” Another asks.

Gaster scowls at them all. But when no one’s looking, he tucks the note into his pocket.


	14. That Coffee Shop AU that every fandom has and wants and needs [Fellcest]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part of a series of AU prompt requests I did over on Tumblr.
> 
> [Coffee Shop AU/Under stress confession/Fellcest]

The jingle of a bell announces Sans’ entrance to the tiny coffee shop. The café is tucked into the corner of a back alley; thanks to the limited foot traffic, it’s a far cry from crowded. The tables are well-kept but the seats empty. Sans is fine with that. It’s a much-needed reprieve from the sensory overload of the city.

“Welcome.” The barista’s voice is a low rumble. Written in a neat hand on the tag pinned to his apron is the name Papyrus.

Sans is struck at once by the broadness of Papyrus’ shoulders. He looks out of place in this quaint, dainty cafe; he looks more built to be a dockhand, who loads heavy crates into boats with the sleeves of his shirt rolled up. Sans’ tired, horny mind revels in the fantasy of Papyrus lifting a crate, his shirt hanging open at the chest, body glistening with sweat from the hard labor.

“…What can I get for you?” Papyrus asks, and Sans belatedly realizes that he’s been staring for longer than is appropriate.

“Uh…”

With reluctance Sans tears his gaze away from the handsome skeleton to look up at the list of drinks written out on the board. He’d just planned to hop in for a cup of joe before work, but now he’s curious to see what kind of coffee a barista like Papyrus creates.

Sans rattles off an order for an expensive espresso with an Italian name—judging by the downward twitch of Papyrus’ mouth, he bungled the pronunciation.

After handing over what seems like too much money for a morning coffee, Sans takes a seat at one of the tables and watches Papyrus work. Each ingredient is measured precisely, but there is a flourish to his movements—he’s putting on a show for his audience.

“One espresso con panna.” Papyrus practically purs.

There’s a dusting of whipped cream atop his coffee. It looks delicious.

Sans brings the mug to his mouth and swallows, Papyrus watching him intently.

Holy shit.

“It’s….it’s really good.” Sans forces out. His mouth twitches into a smile.

It’s the worst coffee he’s ever tasted. But a small lie is worth it for the surprised, pleased expression on Papyrus’ face. He drinks the rest of the bitter mixture down, feeling the coffee grounds lodge in his teeth.

~*~

Sans is back at the café the next day.

Papyrus greets him with a small, delighted smile. Sans orders a different drink, hoping against hope that the shitty coffee had been a fluke, but nope. His cappuccino tastes like molten garbage.  He sucks it up and drinks it down, like a medicine a child has to swallow. Quick and easy.

Sans falls into a daily routine; he strolls in at 7:30, tries something new on the menu, and uses Papyrus’ smile to fuel him through the day. No other customers come in besides Sans, so after a week of this Papyrus slides into the seat opposite Sans after setting down two mugs of coffee.

Sans sweats in his suit at Papyrus’ close proximity, and does what he does best in stressful situations: he rambles. He goes on and on about his asshole of a boss, his often dull coworkers (save for Alphys, she’s the bomb) and anything else that comes to mind.

Papyrus listens intently, and his blunt commentary on Sans’ office life makes Sans crack up.

“See you tomorrow, Sans.” Papyrus says that day, waving him off as he leaves.

Papyrus remembered _his name_. It’s a stupid, small thing, but he hums to himself at work all day until Alphys tells him to knock it off.

~*~

One day Sans comes to the café to find a closed sign on the window. He peers inside, concerned. He can see movement inside. And many moving boxes.

He raps his knuckles on the glass. Papyrus catches sight of him, and unlocks the door.

“Hello, Sans.” Papyrus lacks his usual proud enthusiasm.

“What’s going on?” Sans asks, looking around as Papyrus returns to wrapping coffee mugs in bubble wrap.

“You’ve been my only regular customer for nearly a month.” Papyrus explains, bitter and defeated. “A few others have come in, but not enough. It’s hard to find the cafe, and the reviews have killed any interest. Everything I make tastes like shit, apparently.”

“...So what are you going to do now?” Sans asks.

Papyrus packs the cups away with great care. His hand lingers on the box before he moves along.

“Return to my father with my tail between my legs. Beg him to let me back into the family business.” Papyrus sneers, without heat. His pride has been dealt a mortal blow by the failure of his shop.

Sans swallows. He nudges a box with his shoe. “Well what if, uh. You didn’t have to do that?”

Papyrus exhales sharply. “I don’t really have much of a choice in the matter, Sans.”

“You could stay with me,” Sans blurts, before he can think better of it.

 _That_ gets Papyrus to stop fussing with his equipment and look over at him.

“Stay with you.” Papyrus repeats, slowly.

“Yeah, um. Christ. You’re gonna make me say it, aren’t ya? I—I like you, Papyrus.” The barista looks surprised by the revelation, and he shouldn’t be. Anyone with eyes in their head could see he’s a real catch. “I’d been tryin’ ta scrape up the nerves to ask you out for a while, now. You could, uh, stay with me while you get stuff figured out? If you want?”

Papyrus walks around the counter, and Sans thinks he’s going to be asked to leave when Papyrus places his hands on Sans’ shoulders and bends down for a kiss.

And oh wow. Papyrus’ kiss is surprisingly gentle, inexperienced, and it makes fireworks go off in Sans’ chest.

Papyrus pulls back. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a while now, too.”


	15. Bad Science is Bad [Fellcest]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part of a series of AU prompt requests I did over on Tumblr.
> 
> [Apocalypse AU/Mate or Die/Fellcest]

The human scientists couldn’t figure out how to push needles into their bones, so instead they plied the brothers with large, bullet-shaped pills. Pills to make them sleep, to make them sick.

Sans rolls the latest and newest medication in his palm. A pale pink, smooth and cylindrical. What will this do to them?

He looks up at Papyrus. His brother is the only thing still keeping him sane in this white clinical abyss. Their captivity has stretched from weeks to months. Papyrus may be wearied around the edges, but the fierce glint of resistance in his eyes has never faded. Sans clings to Papyrus’ hope like a lifeline; without it, he’d lie down and dust, if the scientists would let him.

Papyrus hates taking these pills even more than Sans—he has always loathed relinquishing control—but he still nods. It’s better to follow along with the humans’ desires, let them think they’ve broken their spirits, until there’s a real opening to seize upon.

They swallow the pills. Sans gags at the bitter taste, but forces it down.

The room they’ve been living in for the past several months is so white it makes Sans’ eyes ache to look at it all day. The walls are blank, but Sans is sure scientists are watching them behind one of the walls, gauging their reactions and analyzing every moment.

“Wonder what this is gonna do to us,” Sans mutters. His eyes rove around the empty room, and he calls, “If this makes my arm break out in hives again I’m just gonna fuckin’ chew it off.”

“Sans. Don’t antagonize them.” Papyrus scolds.

He looks flushed. Sans is feeling rather warm himself. Hotter every second. It’s not long before Sans is wiping rivulets of sweat from his skull. Great. This must be another illness pill. They’d been exposed to several human diseases, so the scientists could gauge their recovery and healing process. Looks like they’re in for another long, feverish week.

But…it’s not painful. The pills normally leave Sans sluggish and miserable. But he’s starting to feel…good?

Papyrus abruptly walks away from Sans. There’s no furniture in their room, no bed; Papyrus walks to a corner and crouches down, his back to Sans.

“Uh, boss?” Sans walks over. The feverish heat is blooming in his body. The thin hospital gown he wears is slicked to his shoulder blades.

“Get away from me,” Papyrus growls, and his low, husky tone shoots straight to Sans’ pelvis.

Sans puts a hand on his brother’s shoulder. Papyrus shrugs him off, and curls further in on himself, his breathing labored.

“I can’t—stop it, Sans. I won’t do it.”

Sans is wet. The slickness of his mounting arousal snakes down his legs, patters onto the floor.

“We _have_ to.” Sans almost whines.

Papyrus has crossed his arms, his fingers digging into his arms. Refusing to let his hands go lower, despite his own evident arousal. He still doesn’t turn around.

“It’s wrong,” Papyrus grits out. “It’s sick. Don’t they know we’re brothers!”

“We have to.” Sans says again, thickly. Arousal from the pill comes in waves, each one making the ache in Sans’ pelvis more intense, from desire to desperation. “They want us to. Do what they want, that’s what you said, right?”

“I…” Papyrus hazards a look back to him. Sans presses a hand to his pelvis, rubbing himself through the thin gown. A small puddle is forming beneath him.

“Please,” Sans breathes, and it’s finally enough for Papyrus to pin him to the floor and rip the gown away.

Sans clings to him tightly as he pushes in.

Papyrus never has to know that in the moment, the humans were an excuse.


	16. King-Consort [Fontcest, King Papyrus AU]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part of a series of AU prompt requests I did over on Tumblr.
> 
> [Canon AU/King Papyrus Ending/ Fontcest/Didn’t know they were dating]

Sans doesn’t have physical eyes, but if he did they’d have fallen out of his skull anyhow after looking through the mountain of reports in front of him. Turns out that running a kingdom smoothly is a bit difficult when your Royal Scientist and Captain of the Guard are dead and gone. Go figure.

As if sensing Sans’ short moment of peace, a servant totters into the room, carrying another colossal stack of papers for him to go through. The duties that had belonged to divisions of the crown had fallen upon the King and his aide. Sans would love to hire a new Royal Scientist and Guard Captain, but with all the work that keeps falling on his lap makes it impossible to find the time.

“Thanks, Ortiz,” Sans says to the servant, when really he wants to ask her to send an avalanche of magic pellets through his skull. At least if he was dust he wouldn’t have to put up with this splitting headache any longer.

Resigning himself to another long, dull afternoon, Sans picks up the first item in the stack. A letter, addressed to “King-Consort Sans”. That makes him freeze for a minute, before he opens it up and takes a gander. The content inside is less surprising, another request for increased guard patrols in the sender’s territory. All too common an appeal in the wake of the human.

“Brother!” Papyrus bursts into the room. “Come with me!”

His eyes are sparkling with excitement. Sans sighs.

“Sorry, bro. Kinda in the middle of...you know.” He gestures to the pile before him.

“It can wait for a moment. Now come on! Consider it a kingly order if you must!”

Papyrus grabs his hand, and Sans is led from the room.

“Where we goin’?” Sans doesn’t pull his hand away, content in the feel of Papyrus’s hand wrapped around his.

“You’ll see!” Papyrus chirps.

“You know, I just read something you’d get a kick out of.”

“Nyeh?”

“Got a letter today for “King-Consort Sans”, if ya can believe that.”

“King-Consort?” Papyrus hums thoughtfully. “What does a King-Consort do?”

“Uh, yannow.” He shrugs. He doesn’t want to picture Papyrus with anyone, really. Papyrus’ free time is nearly nonexistent now; if he had a lover, Sans would undoubtedly be left alone, despite Papyrus’ best efforts to make time. Selfish? Definitely. But it is what it is.

“Tell me,” Papyrus presses.

“Depends on the King, I guess. Queen Toriel and King Asgore shared power pretty equally. So a King-Consort would help rule and manage the kingdom. Support the King. Host dinner parties n’ stuff.”

Papyrus looks almost sly. “Well, going by that definition...that title does fit you!”

Sans coughs. “Oh, not really. They have to carry on the family line and such.”

“We could adopt an orphan once our bones get wrinkly.” Sans sputters, but Papyrus continues on. “And well, I’m King now, and I’m not King Asgore’s son.” Papyrus pauses, tilting his head to the side in thought. “Or am I? Another thing to ask upon his return.”

“Uh…” Sans can feel himself flushing. He can’t explain this.

“We’re here!” Papyrus announces with pride, leading Sans into a room he hasn’t been to before. There’s a complete laboratory set up, shiny new materials. Sans almost drools at the sight of all the pristine equipment.

“I know you miss tinkering around with your doo-bobs from home. Here you can tinker to your soul’s content.”

Papyrus is studying him with a wide smile, eagerly anticipating his response.

“Paps, this is…” Too much. Papyrus didn’t have to go out of his way to do this. Stars, his brother is just the coolest. “Thanks.”

“Only the best for my dearest brother.”

Papyrus presses a kiss to Sans’ forehead. Then, another quick peck on his mouth.

Sans gapes up at him, face aflame. Papyrus winks saucily. He claps Sans on the back.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it!”

Sans brushes his phalanges across his mouth. Looks to the corner Papyrus disappeared around. Leaving Sans to contemplate what the hell just happened.

And how he can convince Papyrus to do it again.


	17. I could just eat you up [Horrortale Sans/Sans]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part of a series of AU prompt requests I did over on Tumblr.
> 
> [Angst/Apocalypse AU/Horror Sans and Classic Sans sanscest]

The cold air here bites harder than in the Snowdin he knows. Sans shivers, even goes as far as to zip up his jacket.

His going is slow; the snow is deep and his right leg was twisted up when he crash-landed with his machine. He hobbles along, the leg dead weight. He’s trailing a trickle of dust behind him, but it blends in with the powdery snow.

Sans exhales deeply as he reaches the central footpath through the woods. He leans heavily on a nearby tree. His breath comes in frigid puffs. The air smells thick. Chalky. It sets his teeth on edge.

Sans limps towards what he thinks is towards town. This world is different than his own, but there are many shades of similarity. If he can find, well, himself, then he’ll be safe. He has to believe that.

(He doesn’t dare hope that this universe has his brother, too. Doesn’t want to consider the possibility, doesn’t dare hope, because if Papyrus is gone here, too, after all he went through to get the machine operational...what was the point?)

Sans reaches an abandoned sentry station. He braces himself on the counter, peering inside. There’s crumbled bits of smoked dog treats. This is Doggo’s station, then. The sentry should be here, but the station looks like it’s been abandoned for ages. Sans presses on.

It’s so quiet here. No breeze to stir the trees, no banter between the sentries. All is still and dead until Sans hears it—an unnatural _squelch_.

Despite the part of him that screams this might be a very bad idea, he continues on. As he gets closer to the source of the noise, he uses the trees for cover.

There’s a figure, bent over another. As he gets closer still, the sight makes his soul drop. A gyftrot lies dead in the snow. Dead, but its carcass remains. Like a human’s would. Its stomach is ripped apart, and another monster devours its entrails raw.

The monster looks like him.

Sans’ phalanges dig into the bark of the tree he’s hidden behind. His lookalike is larger than him, bulkier. His eye lights are a deep, bloody red. But their most prominent difference—aside from the fact that one of them is apparently a _cannibal_ , the hysterical part of his mind adds—is the axe wedged inside his copy’s skull. Pulling it free would undoubtedly kill him, so in his head it stays. His skull is jagged around the impacted area, but it looks like the bone has started to fuse itself around the axe.

With a sudden shock, Sans realizes. He _knows_ that axe. He’s seen it in Dogaressa’s hands.

He wants to vomit. Did his doppelgänger eat her, too?

The other Sans sits back on his haunches. His threadbare jacket is caked in dust, but he doesn’t seem to notice, or care. He straightens, sniffing the air.

He looks right at Sans.

“Fuck, fuck, motherfucking—” Sans trips over his own stupid, useless leg, and falls into the snow. He crawls forward, reaching out with his magic for a way out, but he can’t feel the shortcuts of this horrific world.

A powerful hand grips his shoulder and turns him over. A quick check confirmed he’s killed countless monsters, more than Sans could ever fathom. His health is still pathetic, but his defense stats are shored up higher than Sans ever had. If he flung out an attack it would be like a brush of wind on his double’s cheek. Harmless, barely felt.

“You don’t belong here.” The other Sans growls. His voice is low and raw. From screaming? From lack of use?

“I’ll, uh, I’ll be on my way if you just let me go.” He can’t breathe, the shallow rise and fall of his chest leaving him panicked.

The other Sans laughs in his face. Sans gags at the rancid, chalky stench of his breath.

He flinches back as his double grabs him by the chin, and runs his thumb across Sans’ cheek. His hands are cold and rough.

“So soft,” He breathes. “So warm.”

Sans struggles to break free as his counterpart leans close, pressing his nose to Sans’ neck. He inhales deeply.

“So sweet. Like Papyrus.”

“Where is Papyrus? Is he okay? At least—at least tell me that.” He’s going to die here. The least he can hope for is that one Papyrus escaped the human, even in a world as fucked up as this one.

But his double reels back and lets loose a mournful wail. “He was too good. Too good for them. Fucking dogs.” The other Sans tugs at the handle of the axe, agitated. His skull pulls with the motion. “I warned him, I warned them. But it didn’t matter, I couldn’t stop it. Those fucking dogs, they—they told me how sweet he tasted, how he screamed when they crunched his bones between their teeth.” His red eyes glitter, and his wide green shows off rows of knife-sharp teeth. “So I killed them. Killed them all.”

The worst part is, Sans can picture it. He can understand. If he was in that same position, he would have gone mad himself and done the same thing. His double is who he could have been.

Cold claws dive beneath the waistband of his shorts, and before Sans can protest the flimsy material is shredded and discarded.

“Wh-What are you doing?” He shudders as the snow seeps into the grooves of his spine and pelvis.

A hot tongue presses against Sans’ pubic symphysis.

“So sweet,” His double groans.

“Stop it!” Sans raises his hand, calling on his magic. If he can turn his soul blue, if he can pin him down long enough to get away—

He’s slapped hard across the cheek. The strike leaves him dazed, unable to fight as the other Sans reaches inside his rib cage and clamps a hand around his soul.

“Hnn,” Sans drools out of the side of his mouth as his alternate bites down on his soul, broadcasting _need lust want hunger_

His traitorous body responds. The double rumbles with approval, squeezing Sans’ ass before wrapping a hand around his hardening cock.

Sans mumbles something that might be a “No” as he’s enveloped by a wet heat. Sharp teeth graze his cock with every suck.

Sans grabs the handle of the axe in a sweaty, fumbling grip and _pulls_.

His double snarls with pain, yanking his head away. The axe has loosened, there’s fresh dust crumbling from the area, but it wasn’t enough to stop him.

Sans is flipped roughly on his front. He’s spread apart and his double’s thick member is shoved in. He screams, claws at the snow. It burns. Each thrust feels like it’s splitting him in two. A hand strokes and squeezes him, his thumb pressing inside the tip of Sans’ dick.

The rough treatment is overwhelming, and in minutes Sans bucks into the hand and comes with a quivering moan.

He’s turned back on his front. Exhausted. Waiting for everything to be over.

The other Sans’ impressive length is still hard, upright, brushing against his large stomach.

His double licks Sans’ cum off his fingers.

“Delicious.”


	18. Family Dinner [Muffet/Papyrus]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for a secret santa. 
> 
> Summary: As her boyfriend, Papyrus insists on attending Muffet’s family holiday dinner. This can only end well.
> 
> [Underswap Muffet/Underswap Papryus, minor mature themes, fluff]

It’s one of those rare morning where Papyrus wakes up before her. Her many arms hold him losely. He shuffles himself around delicately to face her. She’d shrugged on her black panties and white dress shirt before they’d gone to bed, but she hadn’t bothered to button up the shirt, giving an appreciative Papyrus full view of her curvy waist and perky breasts.

After completing the laborious task of extricating himself from Muffet, he stretches before meandering over to his girlfriend’s kitchen. Like her café, it’s well stocked with fruits and confectionaries. Papyrus puts on some coffee as he smothers a yawn with one hand.

He plunks himself down at the kitchen table and watches the steady drip drip drip of the coffee machine, still half-asleep. A basket of scones, baked last night, sit at the table. Papyrus takes one. As always, the food is flaky and fluffy and delicious.

Cool hands on the back of his neck make him jump.

“Morning, dearie~” Muffet hums, bestowing upon Papyrus a quick kiss. She wipes off the crumbs on his mouth with a thumb.

“I made coffee.”

“I see that.” He gets an extra kiss as a reward.

Muffet pulls out two mugs from the kitchen cabinet. The one he’d gotten her for her birthday, in the shape of donut. The second is one of Papyrus’ mugs from the house he shares with Sans. #1 Grandma, it says. Sans always gives him such a _look_ when Papyrus uses it. The mug, like so many small things of his, migrated to Muffet’s home above her café.

Muffet hums to herself as she prepares the coffee. She plunks two sugar cubes into her own mug, and as she stirs the sugar in, she adds a generous amount of milk, honey, and sugar to Papyrus’ mug. Absentmindedly, she buttons up her shirt.

Papyrus could watch her for hours. It’s fascinating, how her hands work independent of each other and yet remain so graceful and elegant.

“So, Muff,” Papyrus begins, once she joins him at the table with their morning brew. “Got plans for Gyftmas?”

“I won’t be opening the café. You can survive one day without sweets, uhuhuhu~”

“I’ll stockpile cakes in advance, to avoid the sugar withdrawal.” Papyrus says, wryly. “But no, seriously. You wanna come over and hang out with me and Sans? For dinner, or something?”

“I would love to, but it would have to be the following day. I’ve already made plans to visit my family in Hotland.”

“Well, do you think I could go with you?” He’s yet to meet Muffet’s family. This is the perfect occasion, right?

But Muffet hesitates, taking a long sip of her coffee before answering.

“I don’t think that would be the best idea.”

“Why not?” Papyrus persists. “Four months is long enough to call it a real relationship, right? I’ve introduced you to my family already.”

“I met Sans long before we started,” She gestures to him. “All of this.”

“Listen to me, I’m trying to be serious here.” Papyrus reaches across the table and entwines her hand with his. “This isn’t like before. No more on and off again bullshit. I’m in it all the way.”

“It’s not that. It’s just…a gathering of the spider clans is not like anything you’ve been to.”

“Pssh. Whatever it is, I can handle it, babe.”

A wave of foreboding dread washes over him. He shakes it off.

Muffet doesn’t look convinced, so Papyrus adds: “And I’ll bring Sans, too, if that’s alright. My bro can handle anything. I’ll just follow his lead.”

“I don’t want you to feel obligated to do this.”

“Muff, I want to do this. I want to meet your family, the people that are important to you.” Papyrus smirks. “If only to get some baby pictures of itsy bitsy Muffet.”

She swats him, but laughs.

~*~

Papyrus doesn’t know what he was expecting—maybe a sticky cave of webs?—but Muffet brings him and Sans to a stately mansion in a secluded section of Hotland. Before they reach the front door, it slams open. Children race out and launch themselves at Muffet. She catches them all, bring them in tight for hugs.

“Auntie Muffet!” They chitter.

Bearing the weight of the children, Muffet waddles up the steps. Papyrus half-jogs to get ahead of her and open the door for the clutter of spiders.

Muffet nods her thanks and brings the children back inside, the brothers following after. The mansion is ornate, ancient tapestries that were crafted Aboveground centuries ago hang on the walls. There are cobwebs everywhere—no doubt from the residents, instead of neglect—but art is preserved carefully behind glass.

The kids’ excited squeals draw adults to the foyer, and wow, Papyrus did _not_ expect this many people here.

“So lovely to see you, sweetie.” An older spider, her shell dark purple and her hair silvered, pecks Muffet twice on the cheeks.

“Who’s this you brought over?” Someone calls from the crowd.

“This is Sans,” Sans beams at the crowd. “And my boyfriend, Papyrus.”

Hundreds—maybe thousands—of eyes fixate on Papyrus. Judging if he’s worthy of one of their own. Papyrus’ mouth twitches into a sheepish smile, and he waves lamely.

One spider breaks free from the crowd, looking upon the brothers with…hunger?

“How nice of you to bring us an appetizer.” His fangs shiver with joy at the thought. “Their magic smells juicy.”

“Don’t you think that’s in bad taste?” An unsteady laugh bubbles out of Papyrus, because this has to be a joke, right? The spider doesn’t crack a grin.

“I’ve heard bones enhance a broth. It’s not too late to add last touches to the Gyftmas feast.”

Papyrus shifts closer to Sans, preparing to grab him and get the hell out of here.

The spider bursts into laughter, his glee echoed by the rest of the clan surrounding them. Papyrus looks to Sans for an answer. He just shrugs, helplessly.

“You went too far.” Muffet scolds the still-laughing spider, crossing her arms.

“I couldn’t resist!” He wheezes. “You should’ve seen the look on your faces!”

“Papyrus, Sans, this is my cousin, Helob.”

“You were rattlin’ so hard I thought you were going to fall apart!” Helob claps a friendly arm on Papyrus’ shoulder; he nearly buckles from the strength of it. “Come on. Lady Cavatica has been looking forward to meeting the guy who stole Muffet’s heart.”

Papyrus shoots Muffet a helpless look as he’s dragged from the foyer and into a dining hall. Tiny spiderlings scurry underfoot, and Papyrus narrowly avoids them. The well lit hall has a large oaken table that travels the entire length of the room, place-settings arranged at every one.

Papyrus is steered into a chair near the head of the table, Muffet seated beside him while Sans is settled across from them.

As people find their places, a banquet is carted out. But instead of the hearty meats and breads Papyrus was expecting, trays of bug-ridden dishes are set down. Instead of rice, there’s a plate of steamed meal-worms. Pill bugs sit on their backs, boiled in their hard shells with a marinara dipping sauce nearby. Across the table, Sans looks positively green.

The room falls into a hush as a new spider enters the room. The matriarch, plainly, takes her place at the head of the table.

“Lady Cavatica,” Muffet whispers to Papyrus.

“It is wonderful to see the cluster together like this.” Says Lady Cavatica. She has a clear, powerful voice that carries. “We’ve gathered here today to celebrate and usher in a new year. Let’s begin.”

Children scramble to serve themselves, and their parents halt their roving hands, and serve the children themselves.

Surely Papyrus and Sans can’t be expected to eat this, right? Papyrus sneaks a sideways glance at Lady Cavatica, to find her already watching him.

Gulping, Papyrus’ gaze darts to the food. He homes in on a plate of raisin muffins. Muffins, he can handle. Papyrus grabs one off the top.

“Papyrus—” Muffet tries to warn him, but he’s already biting down. The dough is moist, but there’s…there’s something else. Something too squishy. Wet.

Papyrus looks down at the muffin. What he’d thought were raisins are, in fact, ants.

His stomach roils. He coughs, and drinks deep from his wine glass.

“The food is not to your liking?” Lady Cavatica’s tone is clipped.

“They’re not used to this kind of…specialized cuisine.” Muffet defends him.

The Lady sniffs. “A poor choice in mate, on your part.”

Muffet falters.

Papyrus, looking Cavatica dead in the eye, takes a large bite of the muffin.

“Not too shabby.”

Papyrus serves himself several of the dishes, all containing bugs. He does his utmost to not think about what’s going into his mouth as he chews and swallows and washes down every awful mouthful with wine. Lady Cavatica’s lips thin, but she says nothing. Muffet’s hand finds Papyrus’ under the table, and she gives his hand a grateful squeeze.

Sans picks at the edge of a pasty, doing his best to avoid the flies cooked in. Papyrus owes his brother for this, big time.  

The dinner moves by slowly, but eventually the suffering ends. After the dessert plates are cleared away, Lady Cavatica, with an air of disappointment, forces out a blessing for Muffet and Papyrus before leading the children to the living room full of gifts.

“I’m sorry about her.” Muffet apologizes, once the matriarch is out of earshot. “She’s very stuck in the old ways. She doesn’t agree with spiders intermingling with other monsters.”

“Don’t worry, babe. I didn’t let her bug me.” Papyrus winks, his words slurring as he leans against his girlfriend for support. Maybe those last four glasses of wine weren’t the best idea he’s ever had.

“Go home.” Muffet pecks him on the cheek. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

Sans, who’d given them a moment for themselves, swoops in to sling Papyrus’ arm over his shoulder.

“I’ll get him home safely,” Sans promises, and half-drags his brother towards the front door.

He and Sans are going to spend an hour (at least) in front of the bathroom sink tonight, brushing the taste of bugs out of their teeth. But Papyrus would do it again. It was worth it, to see the way Muffet smiled at him.

**Author's Note:**

> You can also find me on [tumblr](http://themanicmagician.tumblr.com/). Interested in a commission? Find out more details [here](https://themanicmagician.tumblr.com/post/158693759081/commission-info).


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